


The Wild Ones

by Nimruzir



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:04:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2885816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimruzir/pseuds/Nimruzir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are Silvan and they are dangerous. Travelling to Imladris on a mission for Thranduil, Legolas, or Taú, leads his group under the guise of a simple captain. Cultural differences and age-old prejudice will arise, and the Noldor’s perception of the Silvan people will drastically change - but will it be for good or bad? Imladris prepares for uncouth wood-elves…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Author’s note: welcome to The Wild Ones. I really hope you enjoy the tale, and if you do, please let me know! It would truly make my day 

You will immediately notice that this story is AU, so do not expect me to stick to canon, or assume I am mistaken in my assumptions. It is purposeful, albeit in this story, there are no major differences.

.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

 

The Wild Ones

 

Benár cantered amidst the small group of four warriors, brothers in all but blood, loyal unto death to their commander, who rode at the fore. Only on this journey, he was to be known only as their captain, not by his true rank or name.

 

Indeed nothing differentiated their leader from the rest. He wore the same brown, green and blue uniform, their armor made of reinforced leather, rather than the finer metals of the Noldorin and Sindarin warriors – for these warriors were Silvan – veterans of the Mirkwood.

 

Benár glanced over at Halú, the youngest of their group. Son of a royal councilor, the child had chosen to follow the ways of the warrior, rather than the politician. Benár smiled, for the boy was fierce indeed, although not quite as much as the commander he venerated, for Legolas of the Woodland Realm – or Taú – as they would call him when in the wilds, was the fiercest elf Benár had ever met. In spite of his royal training, the prince was as wild as he was blunt, as undiplomatic as he was loyal to his father and land.

 

Benár smirked as he cantered, remembering some of the more monumental skirmishes his prince had found himself in. But his mirth promptly disappeared as the reason behind such behavior made itself known.

 

The elf was forged from hardship. The horrific circumstances of his mother’s death, the loss of so many siblings, the steady encroachment of evil into the lands he knew and love so well.

 

So much death, so much horror for one still so young; the grief and the responsibility had matured his friend well beyond what was considered normal, indeed at one point in his life, he had been named the ‘infant warrior’.

A quieter, wiser smile graced Benár’s weary face then, and once more he glanced at his commander’s wind-swept face, still bruised and bloodied, as most of them were.

 

The journey had not been easy, and both pain, hunger and exhaustion drove them those final leagues into Imladris, their destination.

 

Two more days, two cycles of the sun and they would reach safe haven.

 

For now, Benár gritted his teeth and bent lower over his panting horse, for they had picked up the pace as the rotten stench of orc made itself more apparent. They were being stalked – again.

 

And so, the steady canter had become a gallop once more, and the biting November frost stung his eyes and turned his flesh numb.

 

On this journey, Legolas was but a captain of the Greenwood, not the only remaining son of Thranduil. Should that information escape and somehow return to their Sinda regent, Benár knew that Legolas’ freedom would be sorely limited. If there was anything his sire loved above his wine and his land, it was his son, and therein lay the elven king’s weakness, one Thranduil understood well, and strove to protect himself from.

 

Oh, for a meal, a bath, a glass of wine and a soft hand. Perhaps, he mused, two days hence and two thousand years of history later, the Noldor would see fit to accommodate them, albeit they were to be known as nothing more than humble warriors bearing a missive from their king.

 

The stench grew stronger, and the wail of foreign trees filled their minds. It was time to dismount and climb, for the orcs were upon them once more.

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

Weary silver eyes reflected the waning light of a late-November afternoon, the experience behind them as evident as the grief that waged war with a weary desire to move on; a half-hearted attempt to live life anew in the wake of tragedy.

 

He sat emerged in his past, and in spite of having lived for so many years, he was capable only of conjuring the darker moments. As if solitude dictated he injure himself by reliving only the grief, and ignoring the many happy moments he had lived.

 

A deep breath and the intelligent silver eyes refocused upon the half-filled goblet of wine.

 

“You are wallowing…” came the blithe words of a blond warrior who now stood behind his pensive lord.

 

“A lord does not wallow, Glorfindel, he ponders.”

 

A snort was the only reply his words garnered and then the slow, mellow trickle of rich wine hitting polished metal, and the audible gulp of the velvety liquid as it was swallowed with relish.

 

Elrond faintly smiled, only half-turning his head toward his friend.

 

“Help yourself,” he said sarcastically.

 

“I already have, Elrond. This is the good stuff.”

 

The Lore-master did not answer, but simply turned his eyes back to the wintery landscape beyond the windows before him.

 

“What is it, Glorfindel?” he asked finally.

 

“Orcs. Or at least a hint of a fragmented group along the southern border.”

 

“Will you ride out?”

 

“Not yet. Tomorrow, if reports are consistent.”

 

“It grows worse of late.”

 

“Yes, still, nothing we cannot handle,” he answered, trying to lighten his friend’s mood, one he was well accustomed to.

 

“Will you dine with your people tonight, Elrond?”

 

The question had been light, and apparently inquisitive, but Elrond too, knew his friend well. He was worried and Elrond could not fault him for that. His sons had been abroad for two months now, without even the briefest of missives, and the ghosts of his past haunted him of late – so much so, that he had not shared the evening meal with his people for over a week.

 

It was time to shake himself out of it – indeed he was wallowing – it was time to be strong once more.

 

“Aye, I will dine with you,” he said absently, and then seemed to snap back into the present and his smile widened.

 

“Thank you, my friend, you anchor me.”

 

“And you, anchor us all, Elrond. Come, and feast with the Noldor once more.”

 

Another smile graced his now softer features and he nodded. Tomorrow his warriors would ride out to protect the borders, and tonight, tonight Imladris would have its Lord.

 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

Frost seeped through his already soaked garments. He had sweated and bled, had been rained on, spat on, attacked more times than he could count. He had suffered from hunger, still did, was exhausted and numb from cold. Halú was a Silvan warrior, accustomed to the wiles of the southern reaches of his beloved forest, yet the persecution they had suffered on this journey had been nothing short of astonishing; it was too much, perhaps, to be put down to simple circumstances, and he wondered then, if it was his prince they sought – for he did have a reputation, so to speak.

Whatever it was that had motivated such a game of cat and mouse, it was over now, and although it had left all five in a deplorable state – they were alive and but a scant few hours from Elrond’s abode.

 

His prince’s identity was to be denied to the Noldor, they would be the warriors of a simple captain, deliver their king’s missive, and await a reply. Hopefully, that reply would take a while, for Halú wanted food, and rest, and blessed comfort, if but for a few days, for he ached and his stomach sent spikes of pain down to the very toes of his booted feet.

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

Whatever it was that his accomplice Erestor had said or done, it had worked, for although it was just an ordinary day in Imladris, the dining hall was all but full and Glorfindel smiled his approval at the Chief Councilor of Imladris, who nodded at the Noldorin general with no small amount of self-satisfaction. He had spread the rumour of a particularly splendid menu of winter delights, and of course, the much missed presence of their Lord.

 

It had worked, for although Elrond was, perhaps, a little stern and given to a somewhat authoritative approach, he was revered as a strong leader, renowned scholar and healer, a legend of which they were proud, and fiercely loyal.

 

And so, they dined in joy, despite the notable absence of their princes. It was, after all, a frequent occurrence, and no one doubted the young lords would soon return.

 

Music enveloped their senses and the pleasant murmur of learned conversation echoed softly through the hall as they ate and talked, laughed and simply enjoyed the day. 

 

Sometime later, the heavy double doors of the dining hall moved inwards, letting in a violent gust of frigid wind that blew out half the candles upon the luxurious tables and velvet-draped walls.

 

Conversation ebbed as eyes followed a disheveled captain who smoothed down his uniform as he approached the high table.

 

Standing at a respectable distance, he waited to be called forth, hands obediently clasped behind his back.

 

“Report,” said Glorfindel softly, bowing his head towards the warrior in a silent command to speak only for his ears.

 

“The orc threat has been neutralized, my Lord,” said the warrior quietly.

 

Glorfindel’s eyes latched onto his warrior in surprise, wondering why he seemed uncomfortable.

 

“That is good news, Captain, congratulations – casualties?”

 

“No, my Lord.”

 

“That is wonderful…”

 

“My Lord…”

 

“What is it?” asked Glorfindel, his brow creasing as he risked a quick glance at Elrond, who was, indeed, listening intently.

 

“My Lord, it was not we who neutralized the threat.”

 

Glorfindel scowled and Elrond’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, while Erestor shuffled forward.

 

“Who then?” asked Glorfindel, almost conversationally.

 

“Wood-elves, my Lord,” said the warrior shyly, almost.

 

“Wood-elves – in Imladris,” said Glorfindel flatly.

 

“From the Woodland realm, my Lord. They say they are messengers from the Elvenking.”

 

Glorfindel simply stared at his warrior, waiting for more information.

“There are four of them, under the leadership of one they call Taú, they…” he faltered, searching but not finding the words he needed to describe his feelings.

 

“Go on,” urged the general, somewhat impatiently, watching as his warrior fought with an apparent urge to fiddle with his hair.

 

“We intercepted them on their final approach into the valley – they are – waiting outside as we speak.”

 

Glorfindel sat back for a moment, as the captain’s words registered, resisting the urge to ask the elf why he had not bid them enter, but something about his behavior told Glorfindel there was a reason, one that was making the warrior nervous and uncomfortable.

 

Turning his eyes to Elrond and then Erestor, he waited as the councilor stood and bid the citizens retire to the Hall of Fire. Such was their friendship that no words had been necessary, and before he could rest his gaze once more upon the warrior, they found themselves alone at the table, a distant murmur of voices and music the only evidence of their impromptu feasting.

 

“Bid them enter, Captain,” instructed Glorfindel, already focusing his sharp blue eyes upon the doorway.

 

The warrior returned but moments later, with four hooded elves behind him, followed by two more Noldorin warriors, strangely, with their hands resting upon the hilts of their swords.

 

Glorfindel thought it strange, but only for a moment, for as his eyes rested on the company of foreigners, he began to realize just why that was. There, in the midst of his own warriors, and with their hoods now pushed back, were four of the fiercest elves he, Glorfindel of Gondolin, had ever set eyes on. He resisted the urge to swear in Quenya, and refused to allow his eyes to bulge. His tongue, however, had refused to move, and Glorfindel gave profuse thanks to the Valar when Elrond stood and spoke.

 

“Welcome to Imladris, friends from the Greenwood. It seems we owe you a debt for freeing us of the enemy this night.”

 

An elf with pale blond hair that disappeared into his cloak, stepped forward and bowed, and Glorfindel could not help but stare. He was battered and bruised and cut and bloodied and his eyes told the story of his exhaustion. Yet more than this he was simply – exquisite to behold; the epitome of masculine beauty, enveloped in the garments of war. It was hard to look away for his stunning face was a book to be read with relish, full of tales and enigmas….

“Glorfindel,” came Elrond’s flat voice, one that startled him out of the semi-daze he had fallen into.

 

“My Lord.”

 

“Please ask the kitchens to bring food for these soldiers. They must be hungry.”

 

“Of course, my Lord,” he bowed, and moved out of the hall to arrange it. Minutes later, he returned with three elves behind him, bearing trays of the exquisite food that had been served at the feast. It was a strange thing to see – hungry warriors being fed delicacies, and Glorfindel resisted the urge to smirk.

 

Benár, Halú, Dorán and Taú sat hunched over the steaming plates of delicacies that had been placed before them, their eyes skipping over the steaming fish sitting in butter, the delicately roasted potatoes and greens, the pies and patés, mushrooms and roasted meat. 

 

Glorfindel’s eyebrow rose in surprise at their hesitation, for his practiced eye recognized the signs of hunger, and so they waited, and then watched in abject fascination as the four Silvans moved forward as one, their dirty hands reaching forward to snatch at the meat and bread, pouring wine into their goblets even before the servants could reach for the bottles.

 

Erestor cleared his throat, and Glorfindel and Elrond turned and sat, hiding their surprise behind well-practiced resolve.

 

It was brutal and messy, as bits of chicken skin and bone fell to the polished table, crumbs of bread scattered carelessly as they viciously ripped pieces off and shoveled it into their wide, chomping mouths. Wine was gulped carelessly, washing down huge balls of food in its wake, and dripping down their chins, only to be wiped irritably away as they reached out for more food.

 

Elrond’s eyes narrowed and his hand moved to his chin in thought as he watched the spectacle, and Glorfindel could no longer hide the grim smirk that had lodged itself onto his features. It was strangely refreshing to see such unrestrained behavior at their normally stiff and refined Noldorin table. 

 

One warrior grunted as his companion passed him a platter with roasted vegetables. A serving spoon sat upon it, but the elf decided it was much more practical to use his hand, and quicker.

Another elf shoved his neighbor roughly, narrowly avoiding him falling asleep head-first into his food, earning himself a warning growl from a thoroughly disorientated Silvan warrior. A growl he totally ignored as he filled his mouth once more and swallowed almost painfully.

 

Had it not been for his years of training, Glorfindel would have guffawed wildly; as it was, he was hard-pressed to suppress his mounting mirth, for the spectacle was one he had only ever seen – with dwarves!

 

A glance to his left and right confirmed that Elrond and Erestor were in a similar predicament. Except that they had settled back in their chairs, crossed their legs and arranged their robes around them, their faces hinting at their own amusement, and no small amount of Noldorin arrogance.

 

After ten minutes of fascinated observation, Elrond spoke, realizing that the speed with which the elves ate had diminished and their eyes began to droop, as infants after thoroughly feeding on mother’s milk.

 

“You are tired, and require some first aid, I see. Let us show you to where you may sleep. Lord Glorfindel, perhaps you will instruct your warriors to assist our friends in finding their way to the bathing areas tomorrow once they are rested. Take your time and rest well,” he said authoritatively. “You may deliver your missive tomorrow before the mid-day meal if that is acceptable?” he said, his eyes latching onto the one called Taú.

 

The elf stood regally, and then staggered to the side, before being righted by one of his men. However when he spoke, it was to everyone’s great surprise, that his language was both educated and most proper, if heavily accented. Not so base, then, realized Glorfindel. There were some surprises to be had here.

 

“You have our thanks, my Lord Elrond. We would sleep now – everything else should wait as we are not in any condition to serve you at present, as is our wont.”

 

Silence ensued, only the echo of the softly spoken words danced around the walls.

 

Glorfindel suddenly felt – cruel. He had stood and watched as the elves sated their irresistible hunger, as had Erestor and Elrond. Yet now, as this warrior stood and nearly fell, part of his clothing – or what was left of it – becoming visible, he felt … ashamed.

 

“Then come, my friends. I will show you to our barracks,” said Glorfindel, his face now a little pale and downcast. Nodding somewhat sorrowfully at his Lord and Erestor, he walked away, the four Wood-elves in tow, until they disappeared through the double doors and the two Noldor were left alone.

 

“Well, well,” began Erestor, but did not continue.

 

“We have been – unjust, I believe,” began Elrond after a few moments of silence.

 

“I know. However it could not be helped, for that was – unusual. I have never seen elves eat like that, like… animals. It is in my nature, our nature, to feel curiosity, Elrond. Do not berate yourself for that.”

 

“Curiosity is one thing, Erestor, but I found myself feeling – superior. And then he stood and I saw the extent of their suffering and suddenly, their desperation was no longer funny. It is at least a five week journey from Mirkwood; who knows what trials they have been put through to reach that state of hunger and exhaustion.”

 

“Agreed. Still, I will not fault myself for my curiosity. You must admit this – Taú, is the strangest elf you have ever seen. His face is simply – stunning to behold.”

 

“Yes, a Silvan captain. Yet I wonder at his manners. He was most correct in his protocol and choice of lexis. Thranduil’s army is well-trained it would seem, despite appearances.”

 

“And that surprises you?” asked Erestor, rhetorically it seemed.

 

“Oh aye, it surprises me,” said Elrond pensively. Yet his thoughts had no more time to develop, for Glorfindel was back, slumping into the chair beside Elrond with a long sigh.

 

“Well?” asked Erestor.

 

“I have allotted them a dormitory. No sooner had I gestured to the beds and they threw themselves down, wrapped themselves in the blankets and fell into immediate sleep. We have been remiss, I think,” he added softly.

 

“Yes, so it would seem,” agreed Elrond. “However, there is nothing more we can do for them now. Tomorrow we will see if they require medical aid, and then find out what what Thranduil has decided to regale us with.”

They nodded and fell back into silence, each milling over the events of the last half hour as they sipped from their glasses.

 

Elrond could not help but wonder at this sudden missive from one who had not attended his own for many centuries. Not even Galadriel had had news of the northern kingdom, herself unable to see what transpired there.

 

Wood-elves, bold and daring, uncouth and rowdy. That was the extent of his experience with the Silvan people. It did not disturb him particularly, but he could not shake the idea that they were – inferior in some way. Science and the arts were disciplines that refined the mind and shaped the soul, made one a better elf, for with understanding and wisdom, comes justice and peace. 

 

A small smile graced his face as he rose, his friends doing likewise. 

 

“Come, to the Hall of Fire. Tomorrow, there will be time enough to deal with the Wild Ones…”

 

Wild they were, and yet neither Elrond, Erestor nor Glorfindel had, as yet, seen just how much. They were in for some surprises, surprises that would change their age-old perceptions of the Silvan people. Yet whether that would be for good or for bad, remained to be seen…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

Dawn broke over the land, and the warrior barracks were alive with soldiers, lieutenants, captains, armorers, healers and cooks. Indeed it was much like Mirkwood, save that the environment was much more peaceful, not so desperate, not so passionate but colder, more distant.

Breakfast was still underway, and this morning, the noise was far worse that it would normally have been on a normal day. But of course today was no normal day, for Captain Elhilor had let slip the arrival of four Silvans during the small hours, and although he had not provided them with details, what he had said, or rather how he had said it, had ignited their considerable imaginations.

And so they sat, and they ate as they brought up old history, and gave their opinions. Silvans were wild, uncouth, untrained in the finer arts and sciences – base – animals, almost. They were dangerous and not to be trusted, had no sense of good ethics, no loyalties other than to their trees.

Silvans were, however, good archers, they said, but when it comes to swords and knives, they would be no match for any Noldorin warrior, for fighting with metal required skill beyond simple brawn. It required constancy and study, and perhaps even a little in-bread nobility.

Other points to be noted was their lack of intellect. There were no libraries to mention in Mirkwood, and even Lothlorien had but a small selection of books copied by their Imladrian scribes. You see, Mirkwood was further North, and as such, more isolated, less influenced by Noldorin culture – it could be no other way, they postulated. Lorien was ruled by a Noldo, with a Sinda consort, they said, but Mirkwood was a vast realm of Silvan and Avari, ruled by a Sinda – there was a difference. 

Two dark-haired elves leant against the main doorway to the dining hall and listened intently to the talk, a grim smirk on their almost identical faces. Except that one held an expression of delight, and the other of surprise.

They had never penetrated the frontiers of Mirkwood, but they had met Silvans along the way to Lothlorien and beyond, and while one could not care less what their warriors said, the other felt sorry for the unwitting soldiers that had apparently arrived the previous evening.

They themselves had just dismounted after a long sojourn with the Dunedain, slaking their thirst for orc blood, and seeking intelligence on the enemy’s movements before their sister’s imminent visit to the valley. They had yet to report to their general and their lord father, however, deciding to first bathe, and then change into their civilian clothing. It would soften the atmosphere and bolster their nerve before facing the inevitable grey storm that would be raging behind Lord Elrond’s accusing eyes.

They were not looking forward to it, and half-heartedly thwarted their momentary feelings of guilt at not having kept him notified of their whereabouts, of their well-being.

They shared a silent glance between each other and left as unnoticed as they had arrived, bound for the bathing pools and a return to the luxuries of their father’s realm, if only for a few days, a few days that promised to be – entertaining.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

One bright green eye cracked open timidly, and Legolas thanked Yavanna that the window in their dorm was small, for his head pounded, sending spikes of pure hot fire across his temples and setting them to throbbing in time with his heart.

A low groan preceded his half-hearted attempt to roll onto his side, but his shoulder told him not to do that, for it hurt, and his fingers tingled a little. He groaned again, but it was cut off as he startled, visibly jumping as someone next to him groaned long and miserably.

That had been Halú, he knew, and so he cracked both eyes open, meeting his warrior’s hazel eyes head on.

Behind him, shuffling began, and then Dorán and Benár crossed his line of sight as they hobbled slowly and painfully to sit on the side of his narrow bed.

“Taú?” asked Benár, his second, and close friend when enjoying the life of a civilian.

“What,” he answered, more irritably than he had intended and he sighed before slowly hoisting up his battered body, closing his eyes to combat the sudden dizziness, and then opening them once more, startling a little when Benár’s eyes appeared but inches from his own.

“Are you alright?” asked the lieutenant.

“No, are you?” he challenged.

“Almost,” smirked the Silvan, before turning to Halú and Dorán. “¿Are you well enough?”

Halú nodded and Dorán smiled bleakly, to which Benár rolled his eyes.

“Taú. If we want to eat, we should hurry – these Noldo will finish it all off without a thought for us,” said Benár, his stomach grumbling once more, for although they had eaten copiously the evening before, it had not been enough to make up for the days of hunger they had suffered on the path; their bodies were still weak and undernourished.

“In case you had not noticed, Lieutenant, we are filthy, bloody and we smell of rotting orc carcass.”

“Well, we are warriors, what is to be expected?” said Dorán as he lowered himself gingerly to sit on Halú’s bed. “Do you think these Noldo perfume themselves for battle?” he scoffed, to which Benár smirked as he said, “it would not surprise me – I mean they wear robes of velvet and silk into battle – how can they move? swing a sword, pull an arrow – it is past me I tell you,” he said, shaking his head at the enigma.

“Watch the limits, soldiers. We are in a foreign land, in the company of dubious allies, I do not wish to offend. However, there is no one here to show us to the baths and I see no other option. Make yourselves as presentable as possible and stay together.”

They nodded in unison, as Benár held his hand down to his captain, who took it, pulling on it more harshly than Benár had expected, making him lurch forward before quickly compensating for the unexpected weight. The lieutenant scowled for a moment, before hiding it and sitting to pull out his boots.

The clothes they had been wearing when they arrived, were all but shredded to pieces, and would surely be unrepairable, and so they had dug out their spares and smoothed them out as best they could. They brushed down their leather jerkins and wiped over their boots. It was far from acceptable, even for Mirkwood’s military, but no one had offered to help them as yet, and so, standing together, they clapped each other upon the shoulder and smiled, before leaving the dorm in search of food and orientation, hoping against hope that they would not provoke an incident.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Elhilor ate, laughing at the witty comments that proliferated this morning, most of them about wood-elves and the Last Alliance. One particularly witty elf cracked a joke that sent a piece of toast flying from the captain’s mouth before he could stop it with his hand, sending his warriors to laughing even harder.

However, the noise stopped abruptly and Elhilor turned in search of the source of disturbance. There, in the doorway, stood the four silvans, looking around as if expecting to be approached by someone. But they were not, for the Noldor simply sat and stared, taking in the slovenly uniform, the filth that covered them, their unbraided hair and dirty nails and the stench of orc that emanated from them.

Blank stares turned into sneers of contempt and disapproval and the talk slowly began to rise once more. 

Taú glanced first to his left and then right, taking in the open-mouthed surprise of his warriors. How rude, he thought indignantly as he slowly moved forward, knowing he would be followed. He had spotted the captain that had guided them in during the night, and so that is where he would start, it was their only lead.

The noise at Elhilor’s table died completely as they approached and the captain looked up at them.

“Morning,” he said simply and the warriors at his side sniggered.

Legolas kept quiet for a moment, wondering at the arrogance of the elf that still sat, for he had not bothered to rise, nor even look at him as soldiers should, eye to eye, even though they were equal in rank.

The witty elf sniffed the air and then scrunched up his face in disgust. “Captain Elhilor, would you please direct this – silvan – to a table far from this one, the stench of orc is making me nauseous, and these sausages are too good to be wasted,” he smirked, sliding the juicy morsel into his mouth and smirking in satisfaction as he chewed on it, his eyes boring into the bright green eyes of Taú in unveiled provocation.

Sniggers broke out, but abruptly stopped when a so far silent Taú stepped forward.

Legolas contemplated, if only for an instant, whether he, too, should find a witty retort for the insolent warrior, but his ire was rising and he was Silvan. His body ached, he was hungry and already angry for being ignored after all they had been through. And now, to be insulted by this idiot, whose captain sat passively by, sniggering along with the rest of them. He was rapidly losing his decorum, and he suddenly decided he could not give a damn. 

“Open your mouth once more, Noldo, and I will stick that sausage up your backside.”

Benár, Dorán and Halú smirked grimly at their captain’s shoulder, undoubtedly imagining the hypothetical scene, but the Noldor gasped in indignant outrage at the ignoble comment.

The warrior shot to his feet in a flurry of robes and armor, his hair flying this way and that, but before he could rush the wood-elf, a voice of authority rose over the din, and the Noldor froze – Glorfindel…

“Galanor, sit,” said the general as he strode towards Elhilor’s table, his arrogant face looking down in disdain at the captain. 

He stopped short, however, as he passed Taú and his soldiers, his face wrinkling in disgust.

“You smell,” he said simply.

“We know,” replied Taú, just as naturally and Glorfindel held his gaze for a moment.

“Why?” he asked irritably.

“Because we have yet to be shown to the bathing area, yet to be told where to go, who to report to, invited to eat or drink, or receive the medical aid we require. Our clothes are shredded, our weapons dirty, we have not slept for the noise.” Legolas could not help it as is voice rose with his frustration. “We are uncomfortable, tired, sore, hungry and quite frankly – irritated,” he snapped finally, his face sharp and dangerous, a challenge in his sparkling green eyes.

Glorfindel’s eyes were a little wider than they had been, but it was the only indication of his feelings. 

The silvery blue eyes shone with a depth of emotion Legolas had rarely seen. But of course this was a Lord of Gondolin, one who had died – it was only logical, he supposed. Still the weight of his gaze was considerable and difficult to maintain.

“Elhilor,” Glorfindel said, more quietly now so that only those at the captain’s table could hear. “Who did you assign to these warriors?”

“I - forgot, my Lord,” stammered Elhilor defensively now that he realized Glorfindel would not play along with their fun. 

“You forgot. Tell me, this – insolence – is due to the assumption that I would empathize with your arrogance and your prejudice – or do you truly disrespect me as your general?”

Elhilor stood hurriedly, smoothing down his uniform and bowed from the waist. “Never, my Lord. I respect you as I do not other superior, or warrior.”

Glorfindel’s eyes bored into the captain, and only looked down briefly when the elf began to twitch and fidget.

“Now, you will personally accompany these warriors to the baths. You will wait until they finish and then you will bring them back here. You will see they eat their fill and then you will present them to me. And should I hear, or indeed even deduce malpractice from you or anyone else, I will have the offender scrubbing the floors of the stables with his bare hands – do I make myself sufficiently clear?”

Elhilor gulped audibly and looked down before bowing once more. “I understand perfectly, my Lord. I shall see it done.”

“Thank you, captain,” said Glorfindel, as if he had not just admonished the elf in front of the entire mess hall. However, it was the witty one, Galanor, who glared icy daggers at the Silvan elf Taú, promising to himself that such behavior would not go unchecked by the Noldor, not if he, Galanor, Lieutenant of the forces of Imladris had any say in the matter.


	3. Chapter 3

The Wild Ones Chapter three

“Enter,” called a practiced voice from within, and Taú, the Silvan captain walked inside. It was a beautiful room and the elf could not help but look around in awe. The high stone walls were covered in vertical tapestries depicting great battles and scenes of bygone heroism, and he stood now, before one particular rendering.

Erestor watched him with a veiled smirk of pride. The room often had this effect on those new to it, indeed the captain had stopped before The Last Alliance and, more specifically, the figure of Oropher, who charged across the open field with his Silvan host in tow – ‘the fool,’ spat Erestor to himself. The arrogance irked him even to this day, yet it was providence perhaps, that the figure upon the charging horse wore armor, including an intricate helmet that hid his features, features almost identical to those of Taú, who had, by now, managed to rip his eyes away from the battle, only to rest them upon Erestor.

“Ah, I trust you have rested well?” asked the councilor confidently.

Legolas looked at him as if he were daft. “Nay, my Lord, we did not rest,” he answered shortly, his irritation rising once more.

Erestor started as if only just realizing he spoke to a living elf. But before he could answer, Elrond and Glorfindel entered the room, immersed in conversation.

“Ah, Captain Taú. You rested I assume?” asked the general.

Legolas’ nostrils flared and he looked down in an effort to cool is temper.

“My Lords, we did not sleep well, we did not eat, and only by the grace of your good self, were we led to the baths. If it pleases you, we will deliver our missive and await your instructions, before returning to our lands at your earliest convenience.”

It had been respectful, for the most part, save that it was clipped, and Elrond’s left eyebrow rose in surprise. This Silvan had no bridle, words tumbled from his lips without the slightest of filters, realized Erestor. He was bold, for a captain, which was probably why Thranduil had him in his service, he mused.

“You are being ill-treated then?” asked Elrond, after a brief hesitation.

“We are not being treated at all, my Lord. We are simply being ignored at best, and insulted at worst,” he added.

A voice spoke up from the open door – Elladan.

“Perhaps that was because you threatened to stick a sausage up one of my lieutenant’s behinds!” he said lightly, and Glorfindel’s eyes bulged.

“That, was because he insulted us first! He told his captain to lead us away to another table because we stank of orc!”

“That is no reason to…” began Erestor, before Elrond held up his hand for silence. 

“Enough,” he said calmly as he spared a glance at Glorfindel.

“I see we have not set off on the right foot, captain. If you feel offended, I ask for your forgiveness.”

Legolas simply nodded, but remained silent.

“Come, sit with us if you will Captain. My sons are recently returned from the wilds.”

“My Lord, I will gladly sit with you, but would you please see that my warriors receive breakfast?” he asked.

“Indeed, yes, well. Erestor, see to it, will you. I will have no further incidents with our guests,” he said, waving his robed arm, and Erestor nodded sourly as he left to do his lord’s bidding with one last, lingering look at the foreigner.

“Please,” ushered Elrond as he signaled to a round table before a large window. Legolas sat slowly and found the lord’s inquisitive eyes already upon him.

“Wine?”

“No, thank you. I am on duty, my Lord.”

“So you are. May I see the message you bear?”

Legolas nodded and stuffed his hand inside his hidden pocket, pulling out a carefully folded and sealed parchment. However, as he handed it over, it fell from his once more numb fingers and Elrond scowled.

“Did you visit the healing halls, Captain?” he asked as he picked up the parchment.

“I do not know where they are, my Lord.”

Elrond held his gaze once more, again catching Glorfindel’s blazing blue eyes. His general was annoyed, and quite frankly, so was he. And yet he could not let that show, he thought, and so he broke the seal and unfolded the crisp paper, allowing his eyes to finally fall upon the fine Tengwar of the Elvenking of Mirkwood.

Long, silent moments passed by, and Legolas stared at the lord’s face, while Glorfindel pretended he was busy with a document that lay open before him.

“I see,” was all Elrond said, before folding the parchment once more, and stuffing it into a pocket in his tunic.

“Come,” he said simply as he stood, and left his office with Glorfindel at his side.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hours later, Elrond sat in his private office with Glorfindel and his two sons. They had spoken long on the intelligence the brothers had garnered, and had decided on their defense strategy for Arwen’s arrival two days hence.

“And what of our Silvan visitors?” asked Elladan as he poured more wine for his brother and himself.

“Quite the fiasco, Elladan” said Glorfindel. You know it irks me that the wisdom of the Noldor does not extend beyond their own people. We wax intolerant it seems.”

“What happened in the mess halls?” asked Elrohir as he crossed his booted feet before him. “Something about sausages and backsides, I hear,” he added as he sipped on his wine.

“It seems Elhilor ‘forgot’ to usher them to the baths and to collect them for the morning meal.”

Elrohir snorted. “Well you can hardly blame them, I mean they did stink…”

“Elrohir,” said a surprised Glorfindel. “They stank of orc because they neutralized a group of twenty that had been lurking along the borders, and this, is how we treat them for their service. They even took injury and were not offered any assistance whatsoever. I, for one, feel ashamed – we have not even thanked them,” he said challengingly as he held his lord’s gaze.

Elrohir simply shrugged his shoulders as Elladan looked into his goblet of wine pensively. Elrond however, observed his youngest son with knowing eyes that shone with reluctant understanding. 

Elrohir was becoming arrogant and over-confident, and Elrond had so far been incapable of rectifying his attitude. Elladan was different, more like himself, in that he was given to reason and patience.

He would have to work on this intolerance, for it seemed that soon, reconciliation between the Noldor and the Silvan people could well happen. Thranduil’s unexpected missive had quite thrown Elrond, albeit it had pleased him. However, years of rule in Imladris had made him skeptical, and he had not been able to avoid wondering what it was the Sindar king would want in return for the talks he had proposed for the following summer.

“I cannot help but wonder at this Taú,” said Elrond, thus breaking the uncomfortable silence. “He seems – confident in a way I would not expect from a messenger. There is a certain sense of authority about him,” pondered the lord, almost as if he spoke to himself. “And then, the healers report that he wears a rather intricate armband high upon his bicep, they saw it as they treated his shoulder. Not many captains can afford jewelry like that.”

“Perhaps he is the son of a Lord,” said Elladan.  
“Aye, that would make sense. He certainly has no qualms about speaking his mind,” agreed Glorfindel. “Rather like Thranduil as I remember him,” he realized.

“Indeed, it seems the Greenwood raises them brash and hardy.”

“Are you going to accept the talks in summer?” asked Elladan.

“Oh aye, I will accept them – I would not miss it for the word,” he smiled.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Benár, Dorán and Halú sat huddled around a long table in the kitchens of the main house. The cooks had sat them down and placed bread and cheese before them. One maid placed a plate of cold meat from the previous night in their midst with a cheeky grin on her face.

“Don’t tell anyone, but you all look so hungry and wounded – you should get more than bread and cheese, I reckon,” she said a little indignantly. A passing cook tutted at the girl but went about her business anyway.

“Will you tell me your names, then?” she said lightly as she moved around the table, moving this and that around, her considerable cleavage clearly in sight of the warriors.

“Halú looked up and gave her a dazzling smile. “I’m Halú, and this pig beside me is Dorán,” he snickered.

She laughed as she swayed where she stood, watching them with dreamy eyes…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Legolas walked to where he had been told the kitchens were, in search of his elves. 

He had been stripped and made to lay down, while Elrond himself had tended to his wounds. It had not felt right to be receiving such preferential treatment, when the state of his warriors was still quite frankly deplorable. But it had been a diplomatic question and he had been powerless to refuse the favor. It had been Elrond’s way of atoning, he supposed.

Glorfindel had seemed sympathetic to their plight, but the brothers posed a new dilemma to Legolas. Elladan was thoughtful and patient, where Elrohir was fiery and impulsive.

Well, with any luck, they would be out of here and on the road home as soon as Elrond saw fit to send his reply on whatever it was his father had sent. Thranduil had not confided that information to him, for security reasons he supposed. He knew that once he was back, his father would inform him.

As he approached the kitchens, he heard laughing and joking and whistling and his pace quickened. Those were his warriors’ voices and he prayed they were behaving themselves…

Alas it was not to be, for the young maid was now sitting on Halú’s lap, the warriors arms around her waist, or perhaps a little higher. Dorán and Benár sat and laughed, occasionally reaching out to touch a lock of her hair, or pat her hand.

Legolas mentally smirked, for his elves were flirting outrageously, just as much as the young maid was.

“Have I missed something?” he asked sarcastically, and Halú abruptly stood, sending the girl staggering sideways until she was steadied by Benár.

“Forgive us my – Captain. Just a little harmless chat.”

“Chat,” replied Legolas with interest. 

“Aye,” said Dorán. “Just, you know, getting to know the neighborhood, he said lamely and Halú snorted, before clearing his throat.

The girl watched them in fascination, and then her eyes turned even dreamier, as she brazenly walked forward until she stood before Legolas.

“Do not be angry with them, captain. They were just being friendly,” she said with a smile and a soft brush of her hand over his own.

“Me and some friends are meeting at the lake this evening, and I wondered if you and your elves would like to join us? We could show you around…”

Legolas’ eyebrow rose, imagining just what they would be showing them. “You, are not a Noldo,” he stated, his face completely straight.

She smiled even wider. 

“No, I am not. I, am from Lorien.”

And suddenly, Legolas smiled until his teeth showed, and a look of triumph crossed her face.

“We’ll pick you up at dusk, then, captain, at the barracks.”

“We will be ready,” he said with a dazzling smile and then watched her walk away, her hips swaying exaggeratedly.

The four warriors looked at each other, and Benár flipped his hair with a flirty smile as he swaggered around the kitchen with his hands on his hips, just as the maid had done, provoking raucous laughter amongst them all for the first time since their disastrous arrival in the lands of the Noldor.

At last some fun, they thought, and so without further ado, they sought out the baths once more, for tonight, they would be a triumph, they were sure of it. And yet how strange were the wiles of misfortune - cruel mistress that she was - as Taú and his elves were about to find out.


	4. Chapter four

CHAPTER FOUR

Dusk, and four Silvan warriors made their way to the barracks. They looked considerably better now that they had all visited the Halls of Healing. They had even bathed and found aid with their clothes. All in all, they had cleaned up well, and so, with shining, braided hair they swaggered on, looking forward to a night of laughter and drinking and, other pleasurable things.

Halú smiled, for their journey to Imladris had been so hard, their reception even worse. He was tired and irritated, and he knew the others were too, but thanks to Milethiel, their Imladris experience was about to change, he was sure of it. The Valar knew they all deserved it, for even before their trip, life had been a succession of bloody patrols of late. Halú wondered then, if their king’s missive was related – perhaps he sought aid and alliance. He huffed at the thought of it, for scant help they would receive from the Noldor, of that he was certain.

As the barracks came into sight, Halú’s face dropped to his boots, for there were no maidens to be seen, rather ten tall Noldorin warriors, standing with their feet apart and their arms held straight at their sides.

Dorán groaned and Benár made a sound Halú thought sounded rather like a child sent to bed without his desert. Well who could blame them? It was, quite simply, disappointing.

“No moves, unless I am incapacitated, is that clear?” said Legolas with a warning, sounding almost as if they had found themselves in this situation on more than one ocassion.

“Aye,” they mumbled as they formed a line behind their captain, their slanted eyes boring into the warriors they approached.

“Galanor, what a charming surprise,” drawled Legolas as they approached and stood but feet from the imposing wall of brawn. Halú smirked, for his captain was not only completely and utterly fearless, but he was also immaculately scathing and ironic when the situation called for it.

“Taú,” replied the lieutenant sourly, his lip curling as a twisted smile lent him an almost maniacal expression that sent Halú’s eyebrows to the heavens. This Noldo was weird, he said to himself. Did he truly wish to cross Legolas? True he had no idea with whom he was dealing, and then a sadistic grin spread upon his face – well he would soon find out, the hard way, he rather suspected, and he cracked his knuckles in delighted anticipation.

Elhilor, who stood beside Galanor, was next to speak. 

“My nose tells me you made it to the baths – go crying to Glorfindel, did you?”

“I seem to remember it was Glorfindel who caught you in the act of allowing your subordinate to insult guests of your Lord’s realm. You, sat and ate as he mocked us. Yet you, are his captain. Tell me, captain, does he bully you?”

Elhilor turned red and his face seemed to puff up, the veins in his neck sticking out. Halú wanted to laugh, for he had been reminded of a fish he had once seen in the Anduin. He resisted the smirk that threatened to blossom though, for he had his dangerous Silvan façade to keep up.

Galanor held a hand up, demanding silence, and then took a step forward until he was but inches from Tau´s face.

“You, are Silvan, and you have no place here, in the lands of the Noldor. You are not to our liking and we respectfully request that you – disappear,” he said with a snap of his fingers. 

“You misunderstand, Noldo. We would be delighted to leave these lands, and we will, as soon as your Lord sees fit.

“It is you that misunderstand. You see your attitude at breakfast was – unacceptable, your words uncouth. We are here to ensure it does not happen again.”

“Oh? Tell me how you will achieve such a thing…” asked Taú rhetorically, moving his face so that his nose was almost touching Galanor’s, his eyes sparkling with challenge. 

“Like this!” he said, as his fist disappeared into the Silvan’s midsection. However, he did not move quickly enough and as Taú doubled over and gasped for breath, he headbutted the Noldo who staggered back in surprise and spluttering embarrassment.

“Hold him!” he shouted, and the Noldo rushed towards the three elves behind Taú, while two took the captain’s arms and forced him upright until he came face to face with a furious Galanor, his nose already bleeding.

“That, hurt,” said the lieutenant stiltedly, to which Taú simply replied – “good.”

It was then, that Galanor’s fist appeared once more, this time smashing into the Silvan’s nose in vengeance, and Taú groaned in misery as his head snapped to the side. However he could not free himself and could only grit his teeth as the captain punched him again, hesitating only briefly when the Silvans behind his victim shouted furiously at him to stop.

Moments later, Halú, Dorán and Benár had managed to knock their assailants half out, and as one, they rushed Galanor, flying into the air and descending upon him in a whirlwind of hair and barred teeth. The elf fell backwards with an indignant yelp and the two Noldo holding Taú finally let go as they moved to help their leader.

It was to no avail though, for the Silvans were furious and could not be stopped as their own fists flew this way and that, and with Benár now in the middle of it, it was not long before all ten Noldo and three Silvan elves lay upon the ground, groaning in pain.

“Taú,” called Benár.

A groan was all he received and so he tried again, this time trying to get his captain to sit up.

“I did it again,” came the nasal reply as Legolas lifted his head and groaned once more, and all three warriors hissed in sympathy. Indeed their leader had once more managed to displace his nose. Over his left eye, a cut was dripping blood and his lip was split and bloody.

Their captain was a sight, but then Halú wagered they did not look much better, and as they helped themselves into the main house, elves scattered this way and that with a gasp or a yelp. 

Inevitably, they had still not made it to the Healing Wing when they stumbled across Glorfindel in the company of Elladan and Elrohir.

“What has happened?” growled the general as he approached the hobbling group of four beaten warriors.

Legolas’ head rose with difficulty and Benár and Halú tightened their grip upon their unsteady captain.

“Just a little – cultural exchange – between – Noldor and – and Silvan warriors – my – Lord.”

“Cultural exchange…” he repeated, scowling when Elrohir snorted.

“Report immediately to the Halls of Healing, I will go and have… tea… with Galanor, and Elladan guffawed, and then covered his rebellious mouth with his hand, turning to help the Silvans along, while Elrohir followed Glorfindel.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Galanor had picked himself up and was now in the process of brushing off his velvet cloak, holding a handkerchief to his nose as the other warriors helped each other up. He stopped abruptly though, when a furious Glorfindel strode towards him, Lord Elrohir at his shoulder.

“My Lord,” said, bowing painfully when his pummeled mid-section protested the movement.

“Explain,” was all he said, or rather growled.

“We, eh, had a …. a little misunderstanding, my Lord, you see…”

“Oh I see,” snarled Glorfindel. I see your hatred for all that you do not understand, I see your intolerance and your insubordination. I see your hunger for command – I see you, Galanor. Report to my office in 30 minutes – you too, captain,” he added, his disappointed eyes falling on the one he himself had named captain not three seasons before.

Turning to the other warriors, he nevertheless spoke to Elrohir at his shoulder.

“Lord Elrohir, I will leave the punishment of these men to you, to do as you see fit this – transgression,” he said respectfully.

Elrohir pulled a face that was neither a smirk nor a snarl, but a frightening hybrid that had the warriors’ scalps pulled tight and their complexions suddenly pale.

“With pleasure, General, with pleasure,” said the young Lord, his agile mind already working on the punishment he would inflict – not, perhaps, for having trounced the Silvans – for he could not, honestly, give a damn. It was more for Galanor’s absurd insubordination - he simply disliked the lieutenant for his pretentions and his lack of respect towards Elrohir’s father. Elrohir had a cruel streak in him, one he almost always gave free reign to when faced with the enemy, for what they had done to his family, to his mother, but he was also fiercely loyal and a good soldier. There was no room for lieutenants like Galanor in this army.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When Elrond entered the Halls, he found the four Silvans occupying four stools, a healer attending each one. There were bowls of bloody water and stained cloths lying around, and hushed conversation, mingled with a gasp or a groan as their wounds were tended to.

Elrond sighed long and deep. Glorfindel had informed him of the ‘cultural exchange’ between the Silvans and a group of his own warriors and he sat now, his eyes drifting from one warrior to the next as he watched his healers work from a distance.

They were a sorry sight, but according to Glorfindel, their own warriors had looked even worse. Four against ten were not good odds, but it seemed these woodland warriors had been particularly – savage – in their hand-to-hand abilities.

Even so, they sported an interesting array of cuts and bruises, and Taú, their enigmatic leader, had an obviously broken nose, for the bridge was displaced, and his healer now stood poised to snap it back into place. 

The youngest warrior, or so Elrond guessed, had stuck his fingers into his ears, and another warrior laughed as a sickening crack resounded and the captain hissed in pain.

How could they find humour in this, wondered Elrond as he continued to watch them. They were all young, he realized. They would be no more than novices had they been Noldor, yet they were clearly seasoned warriors and it made him wonder at the life they led in Mirkwood. 

It gave him a new perspective on their behavior, he realized. He was slowly beginning to realize that the only thing that separated his own world from theirs, was the hardship Elrond suspected they confronted in the Great Wood. He realized with a start, that Elrohir had much in common with them. All that hunting and bloodshed, all that hatred and vengeance he sought to inflict – it had made him brash and impulsive.

There was, however, a difference. Elrohir suffered, often channeling his negativity in ways Elrond considered inappropriate – he had not learned to deal with the pain yet.

For the Silvans, it seemed to be an ingrained quality – their brutal honesty, their lack of diplomacy no longer seemed to be irreverent or aggressive, but a necessary defense mechanism in order to live any semblance of a happy existence.

Yes, he realized, he did understand and he smiled, for these Silvan warriors had helped him to better understand his own son. Who would have thought, he said to himself as a timid smile escaped him.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Galanor stood rigid, in spite of his swollen and smarting face, Elhilor at his side in a similar state.

Glorfindel sat scribbling noisily upon a parchment that lay before him on his large desk, chronicling the orders Elrohir had issued. He had decided to place the offending warriors on stable duty for the next ten days, in addition to which they were to polish every single piece of metal that lay in the arms halls. An arduous task that had Glorfindel minimally satisfied.

Elrond’s sons now stood behind him, learning the ways of disciplining officers from their general.

Standing slowly and then planting himself uncomfortably close to Galanor’s face, he opened his mouth to begin the tirade. However it was not to be, and Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed in irritation at the interruption from the doorway.

“What is it?” he asked curtly.

“My Lord. Orcs! Not half a day’s ride to the south-west – the biggest group we have seen this season…”

“South-west?” asked Glorfindel, his face turning pale with the implications.

“Yes, my Lord – closer to Lady Arwen’s entourage than to us. We cannot reach them in time…”


	5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Glorfindel ran through the halls as he pulled on his armor and tightened his arm guards. Issuing his orders to his lieutenants behind him, Elladan and Elrohir deployed the following warriors accordingly, with a practiced ease that spoke of years of service and training together.

“Elrond,” he called urgently as he passed the doors in the healing wing.

The lord looked up from his inspection of Taú’s broken nose, already scowling in anticipation, for there was no mistaking his general’s tone of voice.

“We ride. Orcs too close to Arwen’s entourage. Five minutes.

Elrond nodded, and then startled as Taú stood resolutely.

“We ride with you,” he said in a voice that allowed no protest, and Halú, Benár and Dorán stood beside him, eyes gleaming with something wild and Glorfindel watched them for a moment. There was not time to ponder, and so he nodded – he would need all the warriors he could muster, and these Silvans were surely passable archers.

If you can ready yourselves in five minutes, if not, follow when you may.

Legolas nodded, implicitly submitting to Glorfindel’s command. Turning, he nodded solemnly to his warriors and promptly, as one, they rushed from the care room and to the barracks, in search of weapons and protection, Elrond watching until they had left. He had, again, had that strange feeling that there was something about the Silvans that was not right, nothing implicitly bad, but something that did not tally, he realized, yet exactly what it was, continued to elude him.

And so he gathered his kit and strode to his office in order to follow this latest incursion where he knew he could be found. He would also re-read Thranduil’s missive, for there were details to be had with but a little time to read between the lines.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Fifteen minutes later, a patrol of 20 Noldorin warriors galloped over the land with their general and lords at the fore. Behind, at the very end, looking as if they simply did not form a part of the same unit, were the four Silvan warriors, so different from the dark-haired, armor-clad guard from Imladris. These forest fighters wore browns and greens, their armor of leather rather than metal. Their bows sat high upon their backs, and three wore long swords at their sides, whilst the fourth had two long daggers crossed upon his shoulders.

They were grim, thought Elladan. Gone were the outspoken, brutally forward elves with unlearned vocabulary and a quickness to anger he had only ever seen in his brother. They had transformed into hardened, disciplined killers and he suddenly realized he may have underestimated them. For all their brash behavior, he had assumed they would be just as ignorant in battle. But then, where had he gotten the idea they were ignorant? He realized he did not know, but then – did he really care?

Glorfindel fell back until he rode abreast of Taú, still bringing up the rear with his Silvan warriors.

“Weapons?” 

Legolas levelled his gaze upon the general, not immediately understanding what he meant.

“Of course!”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose and then he rolled his eyes in disbelief.

“I mean,” he shouted over, “what weapons do you and your elves favor?”

Legolas scowled in irritation before he continued. “For me, the bow, and then knives. All my elves are competent archers, and swordsmen.”

Glorfindel wondered why Taú did not favor the sword, he had the build for it; he was no willowy youth but a tall, strong warrior who was surprisingly powerfully built. He made a mental note to talk to the Silvan when they returned, intrigued that he was with all things military.

Elrohir’s voice called out then, a tinge of excitement in it and Elladan reigned in beside his prancing steed.

“We are close, we must take the advantage and attack first,” he said hurriedly, but Glorfindel did not agree.

“No, we must send out a scout. We do not know their exact location and more importantly,” he said forcefully as he took Elrohir’s forearm in hand, “we do not know Lady Arwen’s exact location. We scout and we wait, and then we decide our strategy – is that understood?”

Elrohir’s eyes were rebellious, an expression Glorfindel had seen so many times. He would need to watch his young lord, for his blood was hot, the familiar surge of hatred once more coming to the fore. He only hoped it would not take away his sense of precaution and strategy.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The scout had returned, and Glorfindel, Taú, Elladan and Elrohir crouched upon the forest floor, agreeing on their strategy.

“Taú, take your archers into the trees, cover us and descend at will.”

“Elladan, Elrohir, ride to the Lorien guard, warn them, and then guide them towards us, they will know how to organize themselves.”

“Glorfindel…”

“Elrohir, that is an order. It is the only way. This group of orcs is large, they cannot be handled with guarantees by so few warriors. We need to join forces in order to protect those civilians,” he said emphatically.

Elrohir breathed harshly through his nose, before springing to his feet and walking away in a flurry of cloak and midnight blue hair. He was angry – again – thought Glorfindel, and for the second time he reminded himself to keep one eye on the battle, and the other on Elrond’s sons. Elladan was not like his brother, but to protect him, Elrond’s oldest son would, quite literally, do anything.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Haldir!” exclaimed Elladan in joy as they approached.

The blond march warden smiled and nodded respectfully. “My Lords,” he said formally, before his smile widened and he clasped the brothers’ forearms in a gesture of friendship.

“My friend, we have no time to lose. There is a group of orcs in the area. We have scouted and know their numbers and their direction. You are to bring your caravan with us, and towards Lord Glorfindel’s position.”

“All right,” said Haldir carefully, glancing behind him at his lieutenant, who nodded his understanding and cantered down the line.

“Lead on – he knows what to do,” said the march warden confidently as he fell in between the brothers.

“Tell me all you know,” he ordered, and Elladan did.

However, after only five minutes of riding, the overpowering stench of orcs hit them and their eyes widened in alarm.

“Off the track,” whispered Haldir furiously to his lieutenant, “get them off the track and into the woods – hide them!”

The lieutenant rushed away but as Haldir and Elladan turned their horses to follow, Elrohir remained, his voice startling the two elves.

“We should engage – they are too close. They will be found.”

“No! There are too many – we take our chances. Elrohir!” snarled the march warden harshly. “Obey!” he whispered, his ire rising as he realized Elrohir was not listening.

Elladan watched his brother in alarm, his body tense in anticipation.

“You’re wrong,” said Elrohir flatly, holding Haldir’s gaze for but a moment, before he kicked his horse into action and rode towards the enemy.

Elladan cursed and swore furiously as he chased after his brother, leaving Haldir torn between leaving Elrond’s sons to sure death, or taking half of his own warriors and riding after the fool…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Glorfindel arranged his warriors where he knew the enemy would cross them in search of their prey. They had perched themselves behind trees and rocks, and the Silvan archers sat upon the tall branches, bows at the ready.

Any minute now, they would hear the grunts and snarls, smell the stench and hear their irreverent feet as they trampled the ground uncaringly.

He calculated the Lorien caravan would have stopped close by to the East, and so with everything set, he whistled the ready signal – battle was imminent and blades were drawn as bows were pulled back.

Glorfindel could hear them now, although perhaps a little further away than he had anticipated. He would wait – just a little longer, just a little longer – but to his utter surprise, after what seemed like an eternity, the noise had diminished, and the stench no longer made their eyes water. Had the scouts been mistaken then? He wondered. For everything pointed at the enemy moving not towards them, but away. 

His eyes sought out the scout, who was already looking at his general. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and Glorfindel turned back to the fore. If the scout had not erred, that meant there was something he was missing, that something had happened to change the course of the enemy.

Scowling at the thought, he strained his eyes but there was nothing within his range.

“I thought we knew the direction in which they were travelling,” whispered Taú who sat above the general.

“So did I, captain. So did I…”


	6. Chapter six

Chapter six

“Elrohir, you fool!” whispered Elladan harshly as he finally came across his brother, crouched behind a bush, his eyes fixed on the enemy, now visible in the distance.

“Yes – fool I am,” he said softly as he gazed at his frantic brother. “Forgive me,” he murmured, his eyes slipping back to the group of oncoming orcs. 

“Well, at least you stopped before you could run headfirst into them. Come, come back with me – we have our sister’s group to guide towards Glorfindel and our warriors. Then, we will talk.”

Nodding, Elrohir rose together with his brother, and then saddled up. However, before they could set off, the roar of thundering hooves turned their startled eyes behind them.

“Oh no,” said Elladan with dread. “Haldir, he has come in your aid, brother,” he said as his mind worked out the implications.

“Valar! Whispered Elrohir – they have been heard…” indeed the orcs were now running towards them, their scimitars held over their heads and their thick ropy hair flying behind them as they yelled their guttural battle cries.

“Haldir! Shouted Elladan – lead them away, away from Arwen!”

“Are you mad?” shouted Haldir as he pulled up harshly. There are too many for us – there is no choice. There are five more guards further back – Dolhinen will take the lady to safety.”

“No…” said Elrohir shaking his head emphatically.

“There is no other way!” spat Haldir, before turning and galloping away.

The brothers shared a brief glance, their faces no longer sparkling with the anticipation of battle, but of fear; fear for their sister, and the consequences of Elrohir’s spurious actions…

They were back with the rest of the Lorien troop, albeit Arwen had been hidden in the woods beyond, as concealed as she could be, while Haldir lined up his 8 warriors. Eleven warriors in total was a pitiful show against the group of 40 orcs and Haldir’s face showed his deep concern.

“These are dire odds indeed,” he murmured to the brothers at his side.

“I take full responsibility for my actions, march warden. Let it be known…”

Haldir glanced at the younger twin for a moment, before turning his face to the fore once more. He said nothing, though, for there was nothing to add to what Elrohir had already said. Haldir was not an elf to mince words, nor to offer false reassurance.

“Prepare!” shouted the Lorien March warden, delighting in the scrape of metal as their swords were drawn.

Elrohir turned once more time to his brother, his face reflecting his regret. “I am sorry, brother.”

Elladan smiled softly, all his anger gone in the face of such appalling odds.

“I love you,” he replied, to which Elrohir could only nod.

Seconds later, they raised their swords and yelled their battle cries, and the fight was on.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“We will wait for ten minutes, then we follow the enemy – something is not right but we cannot risk running blindly into a battle.”

“Lord Glorfindel,” called Taú from his tree. “Let me scout forward, we may be able to save some time.”

The general considered for a moment, before nodding his consent.

“Alright, and be careful,” he smiled with a nod.

Taú nodded back and then swiftly jumped higher into the canopy, and promptly disappeared from sight.

He travelled this way for a few minutes, before the sounds of battle came to him and his heart dropped to his boots. They had engaged.

Taú placed his fingers in his mouth and issued a whistle he knew his elves would understand, and then he rushed through the trees towards battle, there was no time to lose.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Benár, Halú and Dorán startled at the unmistakable call for aid that their captain had issued.

“Lord Glorfindel. There is battle to the South-east. Captain Taú calls for aid!” said Benár hurriedly, his eyes wide.

“Lead us!” shouted Glorfindel, and the Silvans charged forward, Halú issuing a tracking whistle every few seconds that Taú would then respond to. Glorfindel was duly impressed as he ran behind the sprinting Silvans. If he was not mistaken, they would arrive in a few minutes, a few minutes that would seem like an age in hindsight.

Battle raged between eleven warriors and a host of forty orcs. Legolas had spotted two archers in the trees who were doing a fine job of picking off the enemy, but it simply was not enough. 

Elrond’s sons fought ferociously with their swords and Haldir of Lorien was there beside them. Legolas knew the march warden well, had even patrolled with him when he had still been a lieutenant, and he briefly wondered how he would tip Haldir off that he travelled not as Legolas son of Thranduil, but Taú, captain of Mirkwood.

There was no time for that now though, and the scream of an injured warrior spurred him on and he sprinted towards the battle, shooting arrows as he sprang into the fray. Grey and blue eyes met sparkling green, and the blue ones widened only for a fraction of a moment, before they focused once more upon the orc he fought.

However, a scream from behind them had Legolas running straight past them, and into the thicket of trees where Arwen had been hidden, and Tau realized who this must be; Elrond’s daughter…

There it was again and Legolas sprinted forward until he found a group of five orcs at the base of a tree, their taunts and grunts telling him there was someone up there, Arwen. He had no time to think on a strategy and so he drew his bow as he ran and shot one orc through the neck.

Screaming, it fell to the ground, and a silver-eyed maiden locked eyes with the warrior who slid to a halt as far away as he could from the tree, but near enough to be noticed. His strategy was clear – keep the orcs away from the tree.

They screamed at him and then charged, but Legolas would not let them approach him so easily, and so he drew his long knives and spun on his own heel, creating a circle in the middle of which he would fight.

The orcs stood around him, seeming to delight in this new game as one, particularly large specimen stepped forward with a macabre snarl on its black, leathery face.

There was what Legolas thought to be a smile upon its face as it whirled its vicious scimitar over its head tauntingly, until it swiped it downwards in a powerful stroke that Legolas blocked easily. The orc seemed surprised, and the others jeered and poked fun at the missed stroke.

Legolas danced to the side and then brought his own knives into a spin, before jabbing forward, only managing to graze the leathery skin of its powerful arm.

Another moved in to take its place, hollering its battle cry and jumping forward. Legolas darted to the left, and the orc fell on all fours. An elven boot connected with its midsection and sent it gasping to the floor. He had no time to finish it, however, for there was already another powerful orc before him.

Too close, realized Legolas as he began to move backwards, but the orc’s sword glanced over his shoulder, scoring a shallow hit that wrenched a pained hiss from his lips.

Whirling back around, he slashed low, making the orc jump – straight into his awaiting long knife, slitting its throat and sending it gurgling to the ground. 

Legolas took more backwards steps as two approached simultaneously – too close to the tree, he realized, they were maneuvering him where they wanted him to be – to finish him off and then Arwen.

He would not allow it, and the flash of a memory came to him, of himself shivering in the branches of a tree as he watched… he had been too young, too young to know what to do, or how to do it. Now he was a grown warrior, a captain of his father’s forces and new purpose shone in his already determined eyes.

He span to the side, avoiding a charging orc, and then engaged the next, stabbing it in the shoulder before gasping as ice-cold metal pierced his side. He dropped and swung his legs around, sending the beast crashing to the ground, and then buried one long knife into its heart, spitting as he did so.

Hard metal crashed into the side of his head and he staggered as the world tilted and he almost vomited. Turning his stunned eyes to the source, he saw the last two orcs before him, snarling and goading, jeering as their prey swayed upon his feet.

One charged forward and Legolas narrowly avoided a rusty sword through his heart, feeling instead as it pierced his shoulder and he groaned as it was slowly pulled back out. Arwen screamed again and Legolas’ eyes sharpened once more.

He span round, drawing a double arc around himself with his knives. One cut into an orc’s arm, before Legolas turned his back on the second beast and thrust both knives backwards into its unsuspecting body, pulling harshly once more until the metal slid out – only one more.

He turned to face the remaining orc and his vision blurred, his shoulder and side sending stabbing pains down to the balls of his feet. Hot liquid rolled down the side of his face and it was all he could do to bring his twin knives up into a defensive stance. It was then, that the tip of a sword exploded in the middle of the remaining orc’s chest, sending a fountain of blood onto his own tunic. He looked down at it stupidly, and then watched as the orc before him crumpled to the ground, and Elrohir, son of Elrond stood in its place, his sword bloody and his face set in a snarl so ferocious he could almost have been Silvan. 

So similar… he thought to himself stupidly, before his knees wobbled and he fell hard upon them. He felt elves behind him, knew who they were. Benár, Dorán, Halú… his strength was leaving him and he relaxed back into their waiting arms.

The last thing he saw was the blurry figure of Haldir standing tall over him, his eyes hooded. He knelt, and then said the last words Legolas would hear for a while.

“We ride hard, Captain Taú needs immediate care.”


	7. Chapter seven

Chapter seven

Elladan charged into the woods after his frantic brother, with Glorfindel and Haldir at his side. The Silvan warriors followed them, for their captain was nowhere to be seen and Elladan had seen nothing short of anguish on their faces. Taú may be wild and uncouth, but his warriors held him in the highest esteem; their loyalty was flawless, realized Elrond’s son.

They had controlled the open area and neutralized the threat with but a handful of moderate injuries to the warriors. It had been the terrified scream of Arwen that had them charging through the trees now, only to pull up so abruptly that Elrohir’s boots skidded upon the fallen leaves as he brought his curved sword to the fore and plunged it mercilessly into the back of a mighty orc, the palm of his other hand driving it the whole way through.

It dropped the scimitar it had been holding over its head, and crumpled like a rag doll to the forest floor, only now revealing the elf that had been on the verge of being sliced into two; Taú.

They stood paralyzed for a moment and Elladan’s eyes took in the captain’s state. There was blood upon his almost limp shoulder, and the side of his jerkin and his entire left leg were also covered. His head was bleeding from a gash to his temple and his chest heaved up and down, a testament to the ferocious battle that had taken place here – and then his brow furrowed and he looked around. There was no one else here, no more warriors, only Taú and five orc corpses…

“What…” he was about to ask, but Haldir was already running forward until he stopped at the base of a tree and climbed easily into its bows. He disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared with Arwen in his arms.

Elladan gasped and ran forward, taking his sister by the shoulders and looking into her round, shaking eyes. He could feel her body trembling involuntarily and it was all he could do to embrace her, encircling her with his arms and tucking her head under his chin.

Shuffling behind him broke the embrace and Elladan turned. The Silvan captain now lay back in the arms of his elves, and both Elrohir and Haldir knelt by his side.

“We must move out, Captain Taú requires immediate care,” said Haldir worriedly. Elrohir’s face snapped to the march warden.

“You know this elf?” he asked incredulously.

“Oh aye,” said Haldir. “We have worked together on many occasions. You have just saved the life of the most able archer this side of the Sundering Seas,” he said with a cool, calm confidence and Elrohir’s brow rose at the lofty claim, for it was the Lorien archers that were supposedly the best.

“We must get him to my father,” murmured Elrohir pensively as he watched the Silvan’s chest rise and fall. “Elladan, help me with the captain, we must move quickly.”

Elladan nodded, leaving a still trembling Arwen with Glorindel as Haldir organized the troop to move out.

Elladan unbuckled the captain’s harnesses and Elrohir unclasped the leather jerkin he wore, peeling back the softer fabric below, until the shoulder and side wound were revealed.

Halú hissed and Elrohir pursed his lips. “We must staunch the flow or stitch him right here,” said the Noldo as he pressed down hard on the wounds while Elladan checked the Silvan’s eyes.

“Concussion,” he diagnosed.

A strangled sort of noise left Benár then, who rose abruptly and turned his back on the scene, as if to control himself. Alas it was not to be and he turned just as angrily.

“What happened?” he whispered dangerously. “Why did you engage?” he hissed.

Elrohir looked up at the livid warrior and Elladan saw the quiet apology there. Benár, however, did not and his eyes sparkled and narrowed dangerously.

“You could not wait, could you? You placed us all in danger because YOU, could not wait, and you call yourself a lieutenant?” he snarled under his breath.

“Warrior. Calm yourself,” said Glorfindel authoritatively and Benár’s eyes flickered towards the Noldorin general for a brief moment.

“You could have killed our…”

“Benár,” warned Dorán, his own eyes flashing at his friend, for he had surely been about to blow the captain’s cover.

Benár visibly jolted and closed his eyes to steady his rising temper. 

Haldir watched the confrontation from beside Glorfindel, and Arwen’s eyes shone in nascent understanding. 

A cloak of uncomfortable silence had descended over the warriors, until it was broken by Elladan, who placed a calming hand on his silent brother’s forearm. 

“The captain needs our care now. Concentrate, brother,” he said as he removed the wad of cloth over the Silvan’s temple to inspect the wound.

Elrohir looked at his brother for a moment, before his eyes returned to his work.

“I will bind them as tightly as I may – it should suffice,” he said too lightly, too slowly. 

The on-looking warriors finally moved, resuming their duties in awkward silence. They collected their scattered belongings and accommodated the injured upon their horses. Taú, however, would ride with Benár, who had categorically insisted on taking his captain.

And so it was that, moments later, they cantered away from the glade and towards Imladris, each with their own thoughts playing out in their minds’ eyes.

Elrohir’s stomach was knotted in anguish for the disaster he had caused, and Elladan’s heart ached for him. 

Haldir too, realized that he had rushed headfirst into a volatile situation that he very well may have been able to avoid, had he acted more intelligently. The Prince of Mirkwood himself had been the one to save Arwen from torture, and it had nearly cost him his life.

As for Glorfindel, he wondered at his wisdom when he had decided to wait, even though he knew the enemy had started to move away from them.

And Arwen – Arwen was frightened, nay terrified – not only because she had nearly perished at the hands of orcs, just like her mother had, but because she had witnessed a Silvan captain in vicious battle, and it had scared her, unnerved her so that she could not stop replaying it in her mind, and every time she did, a shudder of anguish would wrack her frame and she would look over to the insensate warrior that rode further down the line, her brow furrowed in sadness and respect.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Darkness had fallen, and the group cantered on, now only minutes from home. Glorfindel led them, with the brothers behind him, followed by Haldir and his elves. At the end of the line, were the Silvans, riding exactly where they had done on their outbound journey, except for one detail. The Noldorin warriors no longer ignored them, but rode around them, enveloped them in their protective circle. The jokes and the leers and condescending comments had gone, replaced now with a respectful silence and diligent protection.

This wild captain had saved the life of the Evenstar, had battled single-handedly and paid the price. He had proven himself valorous in their eyes, for there was one thing the Noldor understood well – self-sacrifice was the pillar of wariorship; without it there was no valor, no glory, and this wood-elf had plenty of these things.

The thud of their horses changed to a clatter, and they drew to a halt in the brightly lit courtyard. Erestor and Elrond descended the steps, the latter already rolling up the long sleeves of his robe. He moved from one injured warrior to the next, giving instructions to the healers that now stood behind.

Standing now before Benár’s mount, Elrond took in the faces of his warriors, who sat upon their mounts, not quite able to discern their thoughts.

“What has happened?” he asked carefully, his grey eyes glinting in the moonlight, fearing some new brawl had broken out during their mission.

“My Lord,” spoke Glorfindel from beside him. “Captain Taú has been grievously wounded in valiant defense of the Evenstar…” he trailed off, watching as Elrond’s eyes bulged and his jaw clenched in checked anger.

Glorfindel watched the silent questions flit over his wise face, just as he saw the lord’s resolve to push them aside albeit temporarily, and aid the one that had saved his daughter from the same fate as his wife.

And so they took the inert body of Taú from Benár’s anguished hands, and carried him into the Halls of Healing, the Noldorin warriors slowly dispersing as they conversed quietly of the day’s extraordinary events.

Glorfindel and the brothers followed the healers and the wood-elves until they reached the waiting room area, and made themselves comfortable, or rather as comfortable as they could be with three scowling Silvans sitting across from them.

Glorfindel reminded himself why he had come along. Of course we wanted the entire story, just like the rest of them, but he also feared for Elrohir, for Benár’s accusing outburst in the forest had rang a warning bell in his mind. He hoped against hope that Elrohir had not done something rash as Benár had supposed, but in his heart he knew that he had.

“Benár,” began Elladan in a conciliatory tone. “We three are here now to enquire as to your captain’s health. Let us hold our peace until such time as we may sit, and discuss today’s events. Please,” he said, holding out his hands, “’tis not the time for reproach but for solidarity.”

Benár’s nostrils flared and Halú placed a calming hand on his thigh.

“Your words are wise, my Lord, but your brother’s actions are not. I will hold my peace, for the sake of my captain. But know this,” he said emphatically, leaning over, “when he is out of danger, I will have words with you,” he said, half smiling half sneering as his eyes fell heavily on Elrohir.

Glorfindel rose from his chair, and his fiery mien sent Benár leaning back into his chair.

“You, warrior, will have to wait your turn, for I shall be speaking with my lieutenant on the matter first.”

“Yet I do not wish to speak, my Lord,” said Benár quietly, I wish for satisfaction.”

Glorfindel’s eyebrow rose in utter surprise, for those practices had not been observed for many centuries in Imladris, and he found himself wondering if it was a commonplace thing in Mirkwood.

“There will be no such duel – if that is what you are referring to. Imladris does not condone that kind of behavior.”

“Tell me I am wrong, Lord Glorfindel. Tell me you do not believe that he,” he pointed to Elrohir, “sought to lead us all unto ruin, disregarding your orders – tell me!” he shouted finally.

“I will do no such thing!” said Glorfindel dangerously low, stepping towards the fuming wood-elf. “Now, you will hold your Silvan tongue and wait in silence for Lord Elrond to deliver whatever news he has. After, you will retire to the barracks and if I hear one word of any misbehavior on your part, I will file a complaint to your commanding officers in the Mirkwood, is that sufficiently clear?” he asked, his nose now but inches away from Benár’s face.

“It is, my Lord,” replied the Silvan, but his bravado was only barely held under his control, and his companions reached up to pull him down, back into his seat.

Elrohir breathed deeply and hung his head, and Elladan placed a comforting hand on the crown of his head, for he more than any other, understood why his brother had acted the way he had.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Twenty minutes had passed in uncomfortable silence, broken only by the saucy kitchen maid who had propositioned the Silvans just the day before. Serving them with hot sweet tea, she curtseyed to them before leaving without a word, her pretty face sad and downcast.

Halú took the tea to his lips and sipped, and then cursed in a language Glorfindel had never heard before – at least he thought it was a curse, for it was hissed and guttural and the Silvan’s face was twisted in anger as he licked his lips frantically.

Dorán murmured something to him and Benár snorted, and then oofed as he was elbowed in the ribs.

They were like children, mused Glorfindel, for no sooner had they settled and they were back to scowling, Benár casting the occasional death glare at Elrohir, who deftly avoided it in favor of the ornate ceiling above them.

A thud and then a clank had them all standing and the double doors opened to reveal Elrond, clad now in a long apron that covered him from neck to ankle. He was still wiping his bloody hands upon a towel he promptly passed to an accompanying healer, his eyes glancing over the occupants of the room knowingly.

“The stab wound to the shoulder was deep and caused some damage to the surrounding tissue. The cut to his side did not reach anything vital and the blow to the head has caused a concussion from which Captain Taú has yet to wake. This is what concerns us most. He must wake, and be kept awake for as long as possible.”

“What…” began Halú, but he was cut off by a swipe of the lord’s hand.

“I have not finished,” he said imperiously, and Glorfindel suddenly realized that he was – angry. 

“Warriors of the Mirkwood,” he began quietly. “Wherefore, this deceit?” he asked, and the three Silvan’s stomachs fell to their boots. 

“Deceit, my Lord?” asked Benár as innocently as he could.

“You did not tell me that Captain Taú is not simply your Captain…” the Silvans closed their eyes in dreaded anticipation as Elrond continued to speak. “…but Captain of the entire army of the Mirkwood, or so his insignia implies…” he finished, the angular face searching the three Silvans as he waited for a reply.

Benár’s eyes shot up to the lord, realizing it was not quite what they had feared.

“My Lord, ‘tis not malicious deceit but a necessary defense tactic.”

“You believe yourselves to be amongst the enemy here, in my home?” he asked.

Benár hesitated for a moment, and Glorfindel honestly could not blame him for that.

“My Lord, it was deemed necessary, given the – circumstances. Mirkwood has not been on the best of terms with your esteemed home, Lord Elrond. We were – uncertain – as to our welcome.” 

Indeed their welcome had been tepid at best, and violent at the worst, and Elrond spared a glance at Glorfindel.

“I see,” he said, the fire gone from his voice now.

“I will have a full report, Glorfindel, my sons,” he said. “Get some rest,” he turned now to the Silvans. “We will care for your – general – and you will be notified should anything happen.”

“I will not leave, my Lord,” said Benár stubbornly and Elrond turned back to the insolent wood-elf.

“There is nothing you can do,” he said.

“Nonetheless. ‘Tis my place to be at his side…” He did not ask for permission and Elrond simply nodded at him, stepping aside and allowing him into the inner halls, watching as the remaining two warriors spared a warning glance at Elrohir, and then left.

“Five minutes,” said Elrond to his sons and general, before turning back into the halls.


	8. Chapter eight

Chapter Eight

 

Benár approached the bed slowly, watching as one female healer wiped a cloth over Taú’s forehead. 

He looked horrible, for his hair had been plaited back into one dirty braid, his nose was already bruised from their brawl with the Noldorin warriors, and now, the entire left side of his forehead had turned the same color.

Through the open shirt, Benár could see the bandages that covered his shoulder and midsection, the dried blood stains still upon his skin.

“I can do that,” he said quietly to the healer who looked up as if noticing the warrior for the first time.

She smiled placidly and nodded, leaving to attend the other warriors in need.

Benár sat and squeezed out the herb-infused cloth, and then began to clean away the blood from his chest. Once he had finished, he took the captain’s hands and washed them too. His movements were slow and thorough, his face set in introspective concentration. 

“Ai Taú – here we are again. Shall we ever see peaceful times?” he murmured softly as he worked.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“What happened?” asked Elrond as he sat and took a long drink from his well-deserved glass of wine.

Glorfindel stood first, giving his lord the overview. However, when he got to the part when the enemy changed course, he faltered and Elrond held up his hand for clarification.

“And why was that?” he asked, his eyes straying to his sons. “Were you not ordered to report to Lorien and guide them back to Glorfindel?” he asked sarcastically.

Elladan made to stand, but Elrohir stayed him with a hand on his forearm, rising himself instead.

“Father, the fault was mine. I acted rashly and headed towards the enemy, expecting Haldir and his men to follow, but it was not to be. As I approached the oncoming hoard, I was able to collect myself and rectify, seeking concealment in a nearby bush.”

“Go on,” said Elrond, his face serious as he stared at his son.

“Elladan had followed me, and as we turned to backtrack, March warden Haldir and his warriors galloped towards us, thinking I had confronted the enemy single-handedly…”

“He alerted the enemy to your presence…” finished Elrond.

“Yes, Sir,” said Elrohir sorrowfully, dropping his eyes, but not before catching Glorfindel’s disappointed gaze.

“And Haldir left Arwen alone in the woods?” asked Elrond after a moment, his quiet ire more than obvious to them all.

“Nay,” said Glorfindel. “He left warriors with her. His decision was not easy to take, my Lord. He was to choose between the defense of your sons, or your daughter. He could do naught else but divide his forces – I would have done likewise.”

Elrond’s hard eyes held Glorfindel’s blue irises, finally nodding and turning back to Elrohir.

“How does it end, Elrohir?” he asked softly as he walked around his son.

“We neutralized the enemy and then were alerted to Arwen’s distress. We followed, and found four slaughtered orcs and a fifth with his back to us. I killed it – only then did we realize that captain Taú had been on the verge of being skewered.”

“You saved him, then,” said Elrond.

“Inadvertently, yes – for we could not see him behind the orc.”

“So, you are saying that captain Tau defended your sister, slaughtering four before you arrived.”

“Yes, my Lord, that is correct,” said Glorfindel, for Elrohir suddenly could not speak. Hearing it from his father’s mouth had obviously brought it all a little further home for his young lord, and Glorfindel felt a pang of sorrow for the morose elf.

There was only silence as Elrond sat, and drank once more.

“When will it end?” Elrond finally asked, startling them all.

Elrohir’s sparkling eyes fell upon his father’s. “Until they are all gone; dead, slaughtered and thrice-cursed,” he snarled, and there was silence once more.

“And does that include your sister, Elrohir? Your brother, your family – all that you hold dear? Would you sacrifice them in the process of assuaging your own, ill-directed wrath over the fate of your mother?”

Again, the youngest brother could not answer and Elrond turned his back on him.

“Elrohir, you are relieved of duty until further notice. You are dismissed. I have a brave Silvan general to tend to.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Elrond looked down upon the Silvan who lay atop the sheets in light clothing, his chest bared save for the bandages, still unconscious after the hours they had been back.

He looked better, thought the Lord. He had been cleaned, save for his hair, for the head injury would not allow for that just yet.

He was still deathly pale, and his eyes remained worryingly shut. He looked up as Halú emerged with a bowl of clean water and cloths. The warrior startled, and then nodded as he sat and began his work once more.

Elrond watched the young warrior in fascination as he tended to his captain, nay general, with the cool cloth and the fragrant water.

“You hold much respect for your general, warrior,” said Elrond quietly as he lifted one of Tau’s eyelids.

“He has earned it many times over, my Lord,” said Halú equally softly as he fussed with the thin sheet he had pulled up to Tau’s chest.

“He is the best warrior I know, the best elf I know,” he said almost to himself, “he is of the Mirkwood but he is the Greenwood,” said the warrior intently as he turned to gaze upon the Lord of Imladris, as if willing him to understand the sentiment behind his words. 

Elrond thought on the heart-felt words and realized he understood what the young warrior had wanted to convey to him. This injured elf was their hope, it seemed. For Imladris, it was his daughter, his sons, Glorfindel. For Thranduil it seemed his iconic leader was his general, this young, brash Silvan had won the hearts of the wood-elves, and Elrond was struck once more with that strange feeling.…

“Taú?” whispered Halú and Elrond’s head whipped down to his patient. There had been a flicker of an eyelid, and then the twitch of a hand.

“Halú, leave now, let us tend to him,” said Elrond, knowing full well what would follow. 

“My Lord, …”

“Please,” said Elrond kindly. We will call you soon enough,” he assured. Halú nodded respectfully, and reluctantly left the bedside, as other healers joined Elrond.

“Taú…” called Elrond, patting the warrior’s cheek softly.

Moments later, a pitiful groan escaped the Silvan, and one healer placed a hand upon his brow to stop any movement that would aggravate his undoubtedly monumental headache.

“Taú, waken,” called Elrond once more, touching his patient here and there in order to stimulate a response.

The blond elf’s face screwed up into a grimace of pain and tried to move his head to the side.

“Hold him still,” said Elrond unnecessarily to his helper.

“Open your eyes, Taú,” he said.

But the green eyes remained stubbornly shut, moving rhythmically beneath the lids. Elrond could well imagine the nausea that was causing the wood-elf, but awaken he must, despite the unpleasant consequences it would bring…

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Are you not yet satisfied, Elrohir? You have upset your father once more, frightened your twin to death – once more – and you have defied me…”

“…once more… yes, Glorfindel, I have understood your speech; heard it many times over.”

“And are you deaf?” raged Glorfindel, and for a moment Elrohir was frightened. “Or is it that you disagree? You did not upset your grieving father, you did not…”

“No!” shouted Elrohir – I do not disagree, I simply … cannot rid myself of this anger,” he hissed as he swiveled towards Glorfindel, his eyes swimming. “And no amount of wise words from you or anyone else can change that. I have tried and I have failed – this is what I am,” he moaned hopelessly now.

“And I like it not,” said Glorfindel emphatically, before turning and walking away from the glaring Noldo, oblivious to the tears of utter frustration that toppled from the trembling grey eyes.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Elladan leaned against the wall next the door to the ward, watching discreetly as Halú, Dorán and Berán talked quietly. They had sat themselves around their captain’s bed and were now immersed in conversation Elladan could only partially hear.

“He is a brash fool. He would not last five minutes in the Greenwood. He would either be eaten by a spider, or set upon by our own warriors.”

“He is good with a sword,” said Halú.

“And what good is that if you disobey your commanding officer’s orders?”

“None, I know. He cannot be trusted…”

“He is a fool!” spat Benár.

“Stop.”

“Taú?”

“Just … Benár?”

“Yes, I am here,” said the warrior, his voice now quieter, concern coloring his tone.

“Benár – since when did you become so judgmental? Your mouth runs away with your mind…”

“You do not agree?” said Benár, his face pulled into an expression of puzzlement.

Taú took a steadying breath, for dizziness was beginning to take him once more.

“He acted rashly, aye, but those actions are not random – they do not come naturally to him. There is a reason, my friend.”

“What do I care for his reasons? He could have caused your death!”

“But he did not – I understand your anger, Berán, but not your reasoning…”

“Excuse me, my friends. You should leave for a while,” began Elladan as he emerged from his quiet corner. “Your captain needs to rest….”

Benár looked up at him, angry at first, but then his face softened and he nodded silently, turning to leave with a last squeeze to his friend’s hand.

Once the three warriors had left, Elladan approached the bed, his eyes fixed upon Taú’s paling face.

“Dizzy?”

“A little,” replied the captain. 

Elladan simply nodded, knowing what he was feeling all too well. And so he sat where Benár had just moments before.

“You are right,” he said, as he wetted another cloth and placed it upon the warrior’s brow, smiling lightly as the cool liquid elicited a quiet sigh from his patient.

“He does have his reasons. Reasons only few can conceive.”

“Why is he so angry that he loses his sense of measure?” asked Taú quietly.

“Our mother. The way she was taken from us…”

“In that he is not alone, Elladan.”

“It was so – cruel,” said Elladan, turning introspective. “To see the face of evil, see its very essence in the suffering of your mother…” he said, his desperate eyes falling on Taú’s half-lidded green irises.

“I know…”

“Do you? No one, Taú, no one has been able to reach him in this. My father, Glorfindel, even myself. It serves no purpose and every day that passes he becomes less responsive, more – uncaring.”

“I do know, Elladan. Trust me in this if in nothing else,” he said, his words trailing off as his eyes closed in pained fatigue.

Elladan cursed himself as he stood and placed a hand over the Silvan’s heated forehead.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I came to thank you.”

“No need…” muttered Taú.”

“’Tis not about need but desire. I wish to thank you. Had it not been for you, it could have happened again. You fought valiantly, or so my sister says, albeit you scared her half out of her wits, it seems.”

“I am sorry.”

“Nay – do not be. I am sorry – for thinking you were inferior, brash, ignorant – wild…”

“’Tis nothing my father does not already think…” whispered Taú, and Elladan actually chuckled.

“You have my respect, and my friendship, should you want it,” said Elladan sincerely.

Taú simply smiled fleetingly, before a grimace took over and Elladan sighed as he straightened the sheet, giving the Silvan’s arm a final squeeze before leaving him to rest.


	9. Chapter nine

Chapter nine

Hours later, Halú, Dorán and Benár walked in silence towards the barracks and the meagre accommodations they had been provided with. 

Their captain would be well and would soon be moaning to be freed from the constraints of the healing ward. Halú grinned cheekily as Legolas’ previous antics came to the fore, remembering the more daring stunts he had pulled with the sole purpose of sleeping in a tree rather than a crisp, clean bed of starched linen.

“Soon we will be away from this place,” said Dorán in a tone Benár could not quite place. It had been thankful, yet wistful, sad almost.

“Does that make you happy?” he asked his fellow Silvan.

“I do not know,” said Dorán sincerely. “For the treatment we have been given, aye – I would be away at the snap of a finger. Yet there is much to learn here, many to learn from. If only they would climb down from wherever they think they are and treat us as equals. I for one, would be far more receptive.”

“You wax wise, Dorán,” said Benár with a smirk. “I agree though. They are haughty and prejudiced and it grates on my Silvan nerves I tell you,” he said as he raked a hand through his hair, wincing as it snagged on a knot.

“We need a bath,” said Halú, inspecting his own filthy hair.

Benár snorted, clearly wondering if they would be left to go about their business and use the Noldors’ bathing facilities, and Halú was clearly following his line of thinking.

“If they do not, I will kick them in the…”

“Halú, you animal,” drawled Benár as Dorán chuckled. 

“Careful though, you might break your foot, these Noldo walk like they have…”

“Dorán!”

The three of them dissolved into laughter, clapping each other upon the shoulders. They had fought well, their captain would be well; everything else, was unimportant.

Moments later, they arrived at the barracks, finding it almost empty. The Silvans thought that perhaps the warriors had been given leave to spend the rest of the day with their families, something they found odd, but what had they not found odd about this place…

Entering their dormitory, Benár stopped dead in his tracks, Dorán and Halú narrowly avoiding walking into his solid back. There, upon their beds, were clean towels and a basket with soaps and glass bottles containing colorful liquids, a comb and even a sponge.

“Let the Balrog roar…” said Halú softly, his mouth hanging open at the gifts that had been laid out, for that was surely what they were.

“Perhaps it is a trap,” began Dorán. “We take it and then they accuse us of theft…”

“I do not think so – yet we cannot rule out the possibility,” said Halú sagely. “I say we take it and head for the baths. Judging from the silence around here, I do not think we will run into anyone.

And so they agreed, each of them excitedly hitching the baskets on their respective beds, their questing hands sorting through the items within. It was a luxury they were rarely afforded. In the Greenwood these creams and soaps were for lords, princes and kings, not for base warriors like themselves. Legolas, of course, would find a way to keep them in stock whenever he could, but it was never enough.

Steam hid whatever was inside the open-fronted cave where they knew the springs where. They approached slowly, as if they were tracking through the forest. Their feet light upon the loamy ground, their senses on full alert. It remained quiet, but there was definitely a presence inside the vapours, for they could hear breathing – they were not alone, and they clutched at their baskets tighter.

“Careful now,” whispered Benár as his head slowly penetrated the wall of steam, followed by Halú and Dorán.

Their eyes bulged in surprise as their bodies followed their heads until they stood stupidly before almost the entirety of the Noldorin patrol they had ridden with.

The dark warriors stood expectantly, as their lieutenant stepped towards them with a faint smile upon his stern features.

“We wished to thank you for your service today. We were witness to the hostile treatment our lieutenant and captain subjected you to upon your arrival, and we are appalled that, at the time, we too, laughed along with the rest. Now, we wish to redeem ourselves for we were wrong.”

The three Silvans gaped most inelegantly, until Benár collected himself, enough to speak.

“What – what happened to warrant this – change of opinion?”

Another warrior stepped forward then, speaking for the first time. “You ran into battle with us; your captain relinquished his command to our Lord Glorfindel and deported himself with the utmost merit. He saved our Evenstar, in spite of our disregard of him and his warriors.”

“You have earned our respect, and you are most welcome amongst the Noldorin guard,” said their leader, and the three Silvans smiled. However, Halú had not quite finished with the talk.

“Lieutenant…”

“Yes?”

“Your lieutenant Galanor - is an ass,” he said flatly, daringly as his eyes narrowed. “And your Captain Elhilor is a shit-eating crawler.” He had said it with confidence and surety, and of a sudden, the Noldorin patrol dissolved into chuckling and snorting.

The leader, however, stood completely still, his face stony as he watched the maniacal grins upon the three Silvans.

“You will take that back…,” began the Noldo as he moved towards Halú menacingly, causing Benár and Dorán’s hands to stray to their daggers, and Halú raised his chin defiantly. 

“…but not today,” he smirked finally, extending his forearm which Halú accepted with a resounding clap of his own hands, a somewhat relieved smile on his face, for he had thought the Noldo would swipe him.

“Come, and bathe with your Noldorin brothers then, and tell us how your captain fares…”

In no time, they had stripped and sunk into the warm, therapeutic waters, reverently opening their bottles and wrapped soaps while the Noldo explained to them the ingredients and properties of each gift, to the awe-struck, almost child-like curiosity of the Silvans.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Dusk was noisy down at the barracks, and Glorfindel shook his head in false rebuke at his warriors. He had walked into the mess room only to find the off-duty warriors in their cups, with three chestnut haired Silvans in their midst. They laughed and slapped their knees and taught each other bawdy songs, and the whole scene had sent Glorfindel’s eyebrows skywards.

He knew what had caused it, and a wave of pride washed over him, for although Galanor and Elhilor were still paying the price for their deeds, these base warriors had shown far more wisdom than they ever would. They had seen through the crust of cultural difference, had gleaned the nature of these, born warriors of the woods, and had accepted them with open arms. It was a promising start to what Thranduil had proposed in his letter to Elrond, one Glorfindel now wondered if it could actually yield its fruits, a thought so distant from his first reaction that it seemed months had passed since they had first read it, and not a simple day.

Passing through Elrond’s open door, he sat at the table the lord shared with Erestor.

“How is Taú?” asked Glorfindel, accepting Erestor’s offer of wine.

“Screaming for freedom, torturing the healers I wager,” drawled Erestor smugly.

Glorfindel’s questioning eyes turned to Elrond, who in turn stared at Erestor pensively.

“You are wrong, Erestor, and not for the first time since Thranduil’s folk came to us,” he said quietly, and Erestor’s hand froze half-way towards his mouth, his goblet quite still as his own eyes met his lords’.

“So wise, and yet so unwilling to look,” said Elrond with a benevolent smile.

Erestor let out a long breath, completing the interrupted action of sipping his wine. 

“Perhaps you are right,” he yielded. “Perhaps age turns me overly skeptical,” he admitted, and Elrond nodded.

“In fact, this Taú is one of the most obedient patients I have ever treated. He knows what to expect, anticipates what he will be given and what will be asked of him. The implications are, of course, unfortunate. He has seen much hardship from what I can see – his body is testimony to that,” he trailed off.

“Thranduil’s realm now lies further North than it once did. I wonder if they are being pushed further back, or is it that they are venturing South?” asked Glorfindel, his military mind sorting through the possibilities.

“This meeting that Thranduil proposes, has become a priority for Imladris,” said Elrond pensively. “Erestor, we will reply to the king today, and then wait for Taú to recover, before sending them on their way. The coming month will be – interesting. Erestor, you are my chief ambassador, it falls to you to reestablish ties with the wood. Are you up to it?”

Erestor drank once more from his goblet, his jeweled hand caressing the fine carvings around the lip.

“It seems I am in need of enlightenment, my Lord,” he began carefully, before smiling widely. “Aye, I am ready for a little adventure, I think, of the intellectual sort, mind,” he added, his eyes glinting with excitement for the first time in many years.

Glorfindel, however, moved his eyes back to Elrond, who stared back at him from over the rim of his goblet. 

Elrond swallowed noisily, seeming to enjoy for just a little longer, the unspoken plea in his general’s eyes.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Haldir sauntered into the healing ward, nodding severely at the healers he passed. They gave him the creeps and for all his bravery, he simply could not look them straight in the eye.

Before long, he found the one he sought, half lying half sitting up in a bed of creamy sheets, with countless pillows stuffed behind him.

He did not look well, but his eyes were alert as a healer finished bandaging his head and then left quietly with a nod at Haldir.

“Haldir!” greeted Taú, and then winced at the pain his voice had caused.

“Taú! ‘Tis good to see you – how long has it been, my friend?”

“A century, perhaps – too long.”

“Indeed, my archers miss the games you played – you must return, and soonest!”

“If my father allows it. Security has been – challenged of late – we are hard-pressed, indeed I was surprised to be sent on this mission. It must be of some import yet you know he would not tell me until my return. I am blind to his motives,” he concluded quietly, “as usual,” he added sourly.

“He has his reasons. He is hard on you, this we all know, but there is no prouder father; this too, we know. It ruins his cool façade,” snorted the Marchwarden, watching as Legolas, too, smiled knowingly.

“Thank you for not blowing my cover, Haldir. You have cat-like reflexes, my friend.”

“Always,” he replied in mock conceit. “When will you be returning?” he asked as he placed one foot on the edge of his chair.

“I do not know. I must ask Lord Elrond if he wishes to send a reply; I depend on his decision.”

“Well, our mission is complete. We should return within the next two days. It would make sense to travel together until our paths diverge.”

“Yes,” smiled Legolas. “That would be good – we have much catching up to do!”

Haldir’s smile was wide and genuine. He was a severe type of elf – serious and often dour – but when in the presence of Legolas and his warriors, it all fell away and he felt young once more…


	10. Chapter ten

Chapter ten

Early morning light beamed through the long windows at the end of the healing wing, and Taú turned his head towards it as he blinked away the last vestiges of sleep. 

His hand reached up to his head, realizing the bandage was no longer there. He sat up carefully, feeling a twinge in his shoulder and side, but nothing, he realized, to make him lie back down, and so he did not, opting instead to slowly swing his legs over the side of the bed and wait for the residual dizziness to pass.

It did and he smiled. The gardens called to his Silvan soul with an insistence he could no longer ignore and so he rose slowly, testing his body tentatively. It worked for the most part, and he reckoned that if he was careful and did not try to conceal his limp and the stiffness of his shoulder, he would at least be functional.

His first problem however, was how to dress himself with a stab wound to the shoulder. He sighed as he thought about the mechanics of it, but the solution presented itself in the form of Benár.

Legolas peered at his second, waiting for him to fully enter the room and sit on the chair beside the bed. 

The silence rolled on, until quite unexpectedly, Legolas burst into peals of laughter, before his face contorted in pain and he took both hands to his head. Unsurprisingly, Benár did likewise, but he did not have a concussion – he had a hangover.

Once both had settled, and only the occasional chuckle broke the silence, Legolas spoke.

“New friends? Or did you raid the Noldor’s stock of wine?

“New friends,” smiled Benár smugly, his voice now much softer. “We were regaled with shampoos and creams and oils of the finest quality; invited into the hot springs below the mountains; taught the less learned odes and songs of the Noldor and then,” he stopped for more dramatic effect, “we were honored with their finest wines, of a smoothness and richness I have seldom imbibed,” he said poetically, “it coats the gullet and descends into the stomach as would a ribbon of the finest silk…” he finished, his arm raised to the heavens, and Legolas chuckled once more at his friend’s antics.

“You sound like a Noldo!” said Legolas in mock disgust. “I am glad of it, though. I had thought I would return to my father’s realm having made an enemy of this entire realm. I am sure he would not be pleased with that,” he said with a snort at the enormity of his own understatement.

“No, if he should ever find out,” snorted Benár. “So how goes it this morning, Taú?”

“I wish to take an experimental stroll in the gardens below, but damn it all I cannot get my breeches on with this shoulder wound,” he said curtly.

Benár snorted again, before rising and retrieving the captain’s clothing, which had been cleaned and pressed to perfection. Even his boots and weapons had been polished.

After some struggling and grunting, Taú was dressed. But his hand moved to his unbound, dirty hair and sighed. 

“I must do something about this,” he moaned and Benár smiled.

“Let me help you, then. By the time we have finished with you, you will be smelling of jasmine and roses…” he said cheekily as he guided the captain from the healing wing under the surprised but benevolent gaze of the healer who had tended him.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

A deep sigh turned Benár’s head towards his captain. “Are you tired?” he asked in concern, hazel eyes flitting of the gleaming yet free-flowing light blond hair.

“Come, let us sit under this willow. Tired? Nay – weary – yes, I will admit to that much.”

“What is it?” asked Benár.

“’Tis this deceit I am forced to act out, Benár. I understand the need to travel anonymously whilst in the wilds, but here? What was my father thinking?” he finished, an expression of perplexity on his still faintly bruised face.

“I admit I do not know, Tau. Surely our king does not hold Elrond is such low esteem he would think him capable of doing you some harm… it seems, misplaced. I mean aye, the Peredhel is stern and distinctly – Noldorin – but he does not act as an enemy would.”

Legolas listened as he twiddled a blade of grass in his hand. “Perhaps, perhaps he does not want the Noldo to see how much importance he places on…” he paused as he flapped his other hand in the air, “on whatever it is he has written in that missive.”

“Which brings us to the next point. You have no idea of its contents? Truly?”

“If by that you mean did he tell me what it contains – nay, he did not, yet I would venture a guess.”

Benár, Halú and Dorán were now watching him intently as the captain visibly worked through his own reasoning, even as he spoke.

“I believe he may be asking for help – not in so many words – he would not. Yet I think he is preparing the way for closer diplomatic ties. Our warriors are hard pressed as it is. We are out in the field for three times longer than the warriors here or indeed in Lorien. Warfare is taking over our lives, Benár and however much he hides it under that cold façade, it gnaws at his heart.”

There was silence as the three warriors hung their heads, unbidden thoughts of friends lost jumping to the fore.

“But why, why this secrecy, Taú. From what little I know, I would wager that if Elrond were to find out who you are, he would be angry, and I would only half blame him,” said Halú.

Another deep breath escaped Taú as he thought on Halú’s words. 

“Yes, that is true. My king is over-protective, this you know, albeit he strives to hide it by justifying certain – protocols – He is right in one thing, my ignorance of that letter’s contents may help in the event of – capture. It is why he will not allow me to present myself before a fellow ruler that perplexes me.”

“Well, his mistrust of any elf further to the South of Mirkwood, and to the West, is well-known,” began Benár. “It is a wonder he has sent this letter in the first place. Perhaps it is simply the beginning, a test if you will, for if you are right and this is an invitation to talk, perhaps he waits to see how they will react.”

Taú now regarded Benár openly, until a faint smile came upon his face and he nodded. “You are perceptive, my friend. You may be right, you may just have summed up my father’s thoughts – it makes sense.”

“Well, thank the Valar Haldir had the sense to keep his mouth shut!” said Halú with a snort.

Benár simply nodded and then turned to see who was approaching. Three ladies glided across the ground, and in the middle, the Evenstar, Elrond’s beloved daughter.

The three Silvans stood and smoothed down their clothes, Dorán combing through his chestnut locks and puffing out his chest a little.

Taú stepped forward and bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you well, my Lady,” he said smoothly and Arwen smiled tentatively.

“’Tis all thanks to you, my brave captain. You saved my life and I will be forever indebted to you.” She had said it so quietly, her words so heartfelt, that Legolas almost visibly shivered. There had been something behind her voice, something that brushed his soul and he swallowed nervously before bowing once more.

“That was my utmost pleasure, my Lady,” he said solemnly, before looking at her squarely in the eyes and allowing a smile to grace his handsome face. She was a dazzling beauty and he wondered if she would be amenable to a stroll. She too, wore a genuine smile and he fancied she would…

His thoughts were interrupted by the untimely arrival of Elrond’s sons.

“Sister,” hailed Elladan as the siblings greeted each other and the lady’s maidens giggled.

“You are expected for lunch, brothers, do not forget,” she warned, and with one last lingering gaze Legolas was not sure how to interpret, she glided away with her companions in tow.

Benár, Halú and Dorán watched as they left, evil grins plastered all over their faces. Elladan cleared his throat, but Elrohir simply glowered at them, his hostility open and it riled the Silvan captain, who rather thought he should be apologizing instead of antagonizing.

“Lord Elrohir,” he said.

Elrohir’s head snapped to face Taú.

“Your warriors are impertinent,” he said quietly.

“You see impertinence where there is but harmless fun.”

“Fun?” sneered Elrohir. “She is Undomiel, daughter to Lord Elrond – my sister. She is not approachable and much less by you,” he smiled in disgust.

“Elrohir,” warned Elladan, his hand coming to rest on his brother’s arm. It was swiped away though and the Silvans tensed.

“Halú, Dorán, Benár. Leave us,” ordered Taú. From the corner of his eye he could see their hesitation, but he could also see his tone of voice had left no room for protest, and so they nodded and left with one lingering stare at the Noldorin brothers.

“Elladan,” said Elrohir. “Go.”

“Brother…”

“Go!” he shouted, and Legolas visibly flinched at the violence only barely held at bay by the younger twin.

Elladan’s final glance at Legolas, however, was not hostile at all, but almost apologetic, and so the captain simply nodded his understanding before turning to face the simmering Noldo face to face.

“So here we are, Lord Elrohir. Once more you are angry when only humility should rule your actions now.”

“Humility? And why would that be – Wood-elf…”

“You erred in battle. You endangered yourself and your warriors – my warriors, your own sister’s life.”

“You dare to judge my actions? Wherefore this arrogance?” he spat.

“You know I am right, however much you hide it with your insults. You know this much is true.”

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Legolas tensed, the pull of muscles sending twinges of pain through his injured shoulder and leg.

“I know nothing!” he raged, striding forward until his face was but inches from Tau’s.

“Oh but you do. Your anger and your rage are the fruit of fear! Of grief!”

“What?” asked Elrohir numbly, shocked at the Silvan’s words.

“You think no one understands you, that you alone have lost.”

“Shut your mouth, Silvan. You know nothing! Nothing!”

Anger invaded Legolas then, because this Noldo had forced those images back into his mind’s eye. The ones he had worked so hard to bury, and his fists tensed at his sides and his own green eyes trembled with ire.

“Your mother died at the hands of orcs…” he began. It was a perilous road, but he would take it nonetheless.

“Stop!”

“Her wounds so grave she had no choice but to leave for the West…”

“Stop it!” raged the incensed Noldo.

“What did you see? What did you feel for this wrath to take your soul and twist it so that you have nothing to offer but ire?”

Elrohir’s hand lashed out and the sound of skin hitting skin resounded harshly around them.

Legolas righted himself slowly, his hair tousled around him and his lip split, but his eyes never left the sparkling grey irises of Elrohir, who now stood frozen before him.

“I do understand,” began Legolas. “My mother died at the hands of the enemy. I hid in a tree and watched as she fought for the time our warriors needed to rescue me. She fought until she faltered,” his voiced wavered but he controlled it before continuing.

“She was slowly massacred, wounded so cruelly for they hurt her in ways they knew would not immediately kill her. I sat and I watched and I could not understand that the warrior upon the ground was my mother. I remember thinking that she could not die and yet I knew that she would. She screamed with every wound she took and I could not understand…”

“What – what was it you could not understand…?” asked Elrohir so quietly Legolas almost did not hear it. He knew this was the pivotal question, the reason behind the Noldor’s simmering, uncontrolled wrath.

“How it is, that such cruelty may exist, for to see it unleashed upon that which you hold most dear is the most severe expression of it – it is the definition of evil.”

The two elves stood trembling before one another, unaware of the audience they had gained. Elrond stood rigid, his eyes filled to the brim with moisture, and Glorfindel at his side, one hand upon his lord’s shoulder in support.

Elrond turned to look at his general and friend, and was shocked for a moment, to find a faint smile upon the blond warrior’s face.

“At last, my friend. Your son - at last…” he whispered, and Elrond thought he understood.


	11. Chapter eleven

Chapter eleven

Elrohir did not show for lunch as he had been expected to, and conversation, although muted, had been heavy and solemn. Only Glorfindel seemed lighter, defending that what had happened in the garden would have positive effects on Elrond’s wayward son.

Elladan had been skeptical, and Elrond had only half-accepted his general’s reasoning. Arwen said nothing at all for she had been away for so long, unaware of her brother’s destructive spiral into misery.

Erestor had simply huffed at the implication that the Silvan captain had managed to pull Elrohir back from the precipice, albeit he had conceded it had been a brave deed, one that had earned the captain a resonant slap across the face.

They had finally agreed that only time would tell if anything were to come of it, and so they had lingered a while, and then had walked away quietly, to their rooms or to the gardens, for none of them had had the inclination for anything else except to give free reign to their own thoughts and feelings. Celebrian had left much in her wake, the worst of which had been her youngest son’s incapacity to accept her departure.

Elrond however, was desperately clawing at an irritating nag at the back of his mind, for during the somewhat depressing conversation, Erestor had said that Elrohir had, at one point, reminded him of Oropher. As he walked towards the famed library of Imladris, his mind delved for answers to a question only his subconscious had seemed to brush. Surprisingly, when he arrived, there was one other who already sat at a long table, before a selection of thick tomes – Erestor.

“You read my mind, it seems,” said Elrond quietly.

“Yes,” answered Erestor lightly – too lightly, thought Elrond as he sat before his friend.

“Well?” he asked.

Erestor’s head rose to meet Elrond’s expectant gaze, his shrewd grey eyes sparkling with nascent understanding.

“You may want to take a look at this, Elrond…”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Elrohir shifted his leaden body upon the ground. He had been lying upon the forest floor for far too long and now, his limbs were stiff and his back ached. Stretching himself somewhat painfully, he glanced over at the elf who was similarly sprawled beside him.

A pained groan lifted the haze that had fallen over his eyes and he sought the Silvan’s green eyes. The elf was clumsily trying to sit up, and Elrohir shuffled up beside him, trying and failing to help his new-found friend.

“Oh, Taú – I’m sss – sorry, m’friend. Look qwat I did….” He slurred as a hand came up to point at Taú’s split lip.

“Snothing, rohi – elro – here, have ‘nother bit of…” he babbled, fumbling for a bottle that was already empty. “oh – s’gone – all – gone…”

“Like…. None – none left?” he asked, his face screwed up in childish disappointment as he took the bottle and shook it experimentally.

“Sh’wee get – go get s’more?” tried Elrohir.

“Can’t, can’t stand now – you go!” said Taú, flopping back down on his back.

Elrohir decided that it was pointless trying to stand, it wouldn’t work he knew, and so he too, lay back down and looked up at the slowly darkening sky.

“Sss’all grey… like – like her eyes – sparkly grey – lovely…wha – what colour we ye mothers eyes?” asked Elrohir wistfully.

“Green,” sighed Taú. Green and they twinkled golden, like toasted barley…” he trailed off.

“Wz’she beautiful, Taú?”

“Oh yes,” he whispered, his own green eyes filling with tears as he remembered her. “Sh’wz a – mythkal – mythical – beauty, ehrohi – calm, kind, glowing, she wz… peace, sec – security – love,” he whispered finally, for his slurred speech had broken and his tears finally escaped.

“Oh, Taú,” said Elrohir who sat up once more to look down at the captain. “I’m so sorry – how old – how old we you when she, when…”

“Fff – fteen, couldn’t fight you see,” said the teary-eyed Silvan as he struggled and succeeded in sitting himself up. “Couldn’t dfend her… I couldn’t…”

“Elrohir sobbed as his own tears began to fall, and both, inebriated elves fell into each other’s arms, finally giving free reign to their sad memories. Yet for Elrohir, it was so much more than that. He had touched upon the essence of his misery these past years. All it had taken was for one elf to provide the answer to a question he had never asked himself consciously, but one which his mind had screamed at him for years. The manifestation of utter darkness in utter goodness, equaled ‘evil’. It was a simple equation that had now been solved, allowing his mind to rest at last.

With one final squeeze, Elrohir sat back and smiled at the Silvan captain.

“W – would you be my fff – friend, Taú? I mean I’m – sssorry for everything – I jjust - …”

“Even ‘f I’m Silvan, or at least half – f Silvan – a Wild and un – couth – Wood-elf?”

“Even then,” smiled Elrohir and they hugged once more, swaying dangerously as they did so. Luckily for them they were already sitting upon the ground, for had they not been, they would surely have fallen as two felled logs.

It was not until later, that Elrohir would remember that last comment that Taú had uttered in his drunken stupor … ‘only half-Silvan’ he had said. Half-Silvan…

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

It had been Elladan, in the company of his father who had quite by chance come across the two drunken elves, desperately trying to support themselves as they staggered into the house in the dead of night. They whispered and snickered and snorted, only to fall stony silent when Elladan and Elrond appeared before them. 

It did not last long though, for the two of them promptly snorted loudly and erupted into peels of uncontrollable laughter.

Elladan looked blankly at this father, until Elrond’s stony façade changed into something softer and he held out his arms to his son.

“Ffather, I’m ssorry – father, ssory for everything, I…”

“Shush,” said Elrond not unkindly as he took his son. “Are you alright?” he asked with concern.

“Yes. But, but I, I hit Taú father and – and he’s already – already hurt…”

Elrond looked at Taú long enough to scowl at him, before gesturing to Elladan that he should take his brother.

Elrond took the Silvan by the elbow and carefully steered him back to the healing wing, which was where Elrond had wrongly supposed he would be.

“You, are coming with me, to where you should never have left,” he said sternly, yet his actions belied the frost in his words. 

Whichever was the case, Taú was too drunk to notice, or even to care, even when Elrond sat him down upon his bed and checked his wounds, or when he handed him a cup of steaming liquid to drink, nor when he finally left with one last lingering gaze that spoke of puzzlement and - respect. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Breakfast, and Elrond sat with Erestor, Glorfindel, Elladan and Arwen, as plates of steaming fare were placed before them.

“And where, pray tell, is your brother, Elladan?” asked Elrond rhetorically.

Elladan’s brows rose imperiously as he turned to his father. “In bed?” he said sarcastically.

“You have yet to learn the wiles of rhetoric Elladan. I realize he would be in bed. The essence of the question, is this: why is your brother not out of his bed and at this table?”

“He was as inebriated as I have ever seen him. I doubt he has even woken yet, and when he does…” he trailed off with a sickly scowl.

“Save us the details, Elladan, but heed me if you will. I will have all my children at the lunch table today. Ah, and please see that Captain Taú graces us with his presence.”

Elladan’s brows rose and his head turned towards Erestor, whose own head was turned down at his plate of food. He knew something. There was something afoot for why his father would invite a mere captain to the table was not normal. Mayhap he wished to thank him for saving Arwen, he mused. But no, the explanation did not satisfy him and so when breakfast had finally finished, Elladan ambled away towards his brother’s room and enlightenment, or so he hoped.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“You look like a wraith, Taú. You cannot present yourself at Elrond’s table like that,” scoffed Halú.

“If I look like a wraith it is because I feel like a wraith; leave me be!” he said in irritation as he batted the young warrior’s hands away from his unbraided hair.

“Really, Taú. What would your father say,” smirked Benár as he began to plait it.

“He would have my steaming guts on a platter; that is for sure!” he said.

“Oooh, yes!”

“Now, I am unsure as to why I have been invited to lunch with the Lord, and we should be ready for anything. ‘Tis unlikely, I know but – should I be retained,” he said meaningfully, looking into each of the three warriors’ eyes, “you must leave and report to our Lord. Is this understood?”

“You mean after we have rescued you, yes.”

“Nay, Benár. Heed my words well – you must leave without me, and report to my father.”

Benár, Halú and Dorán looked at each other worriedly before turning back to their captain.

“I do not pretend to understand your motives, Taú. But comply we will, even though it is against our natures to do so.”

Legolas smiled and nodded. He had expected no less, these warriors were loyal to a fault.

“Well then, wish me luck!”

They simply nodded back before walking part of the way towards the house in tense silence, finally coming to stop in the gardens immediately before the Lord’s private suite. They would be close by, should anything untoward occur.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Captain Taú!” greeted Glorfindel in a most unnoldorin way, at least to Legolas’ mind. He was affable and effusive and what he felt he expressed - Legolas liked him.

“Lord Glorfindel,” he nodded and smiled as he walked into the private dining room, only slightly limping. His – episode - with Elrohir the day before had aggravated the wound a little. The less pressure he put on it the better, he reckoned as he took stock of his surroundings, his eyes glancing over each of Elrond’s children and smirking when they landed on a scowling Elrohir.

The scowl was promptly replaced by a mischievous grin, however, one which Legolas returned with one of his own, his white teeth flashing for a moment.

“Please sit, Captain,” motioned Elrond as he took his own seat at the head of the table.

“How are your wounds today, Taú?” asked the lord lightly as wine was served in fine goblets fit for lords and ladies.

“Improving, my Lord, thank you.”

“Well, I would wager it is not your leg that gives you grief this day but a different part of your anatomy…” drawled Erestor with a smirk and Legolas resisted the urge to arch an eyebrow in silent censure.

There was a snort from Elladan then that was promptly smothered with a sip of wine and a burning scowl from his brother.

“So tell us, Taú. When must you leave? I would very much like to exchange military technique with you and your elves. Mayhap we will have time…?”

“I hope so, my Lord. It would be a great privilege to do so. However, our departure depends solely on Lord Elrond. Should you wish to send a reply to my Lord, I must return with it at once. Those are our orders.”

“Indeed Erestor and I are working on that now. Tomorrow will bring with it a decision on the issue.”

Legolas nodded as he smiled at the servant who placed a most appetizing chunk of buttered trout upon his plate.

“Come now, father. Let us talk of other things. There will be time enough for work on the morrow,” she smiled as she met Taú’s green eyes. There it was again, he mused. Did she fancy him, he wondered? Again, he willed his brow not to send his eyebrow aloft once more and simply smiled his own, winning grin and could have sworn her pale skin had turned rosy.

Glorfindel watched her from over the brim of his cup, hiding his own knowing smile, and Legolas was, again, struck by why he liked this legendary warrior so much.

Next came the meat and Legolas had to admit that the Noldor knew their stuff. The food was excellent and for a while, he was immersed in it, in the strong, spiced flavors and the array of textures from soft and silky to crunchy and crisp. It was delicious and he closed his eyes in near ecstasy.

“You are enjoying our fare, Captain?” smiled Elrohir as he watched his new-found friend.

Legolas abruptly stopped chewing as his eyes snapped to Elrohir, realizing that all eyes were upon him. He would have blushed had he not had so many years of practice at his father’s knee.

“I am afraid it has been too long since I sat at a high table, my lords. Too many moons on patrol,” he smiled quietly as he continued to eat, more slowly now.

“Do you have family, Taú?” asked Arwen conversationally, and Legolas damned his bad luck.

“Aye, my father awaits my return in the Greenwood, as do my aunt and uncle and a smattering of cousins,” he said lightly.

“No siblings, then?” asked Arwen innocently.

“Nay, no siblings…” he smiled, hoping it would be enough to finish that particular line of conversation. He was wrong though.

“I remember you mentioning that you are only half-Silvan, Taú,” said Elrohir. Are you half Noldo then? He smiled wickedly and Legolas looked dumbly back at him. He had erred, he knew, although he had not remembered that slip until Elrohir had mentioned it. He would need to tread with care now.

“Noldo? Nay, Sindarin.”

“Oh? Said Erestor, in a tone Legolas decided he did not like, for it had sounded – sarcastic.

“Aye, Sindarin my Lord.” Perhaps the tactic would work – the truth with no explanation. After all why would he need to explain? There were plenty of Sindarin elves around.

“That explains your coloring, certainly,” said Elrond. “Perhaps we know your father?”

Legolas froze for only a moment, because something was beginning to dawn on him and his stomach lurched. Why had they invited him to this table in the first place? 

Now was the time for cool calm and collected emotions. He would give nothing away, and so he sipped his wine and answered.

“I doubt that my Lord. My father is a warrior of the Greenwood. As far as I know you have not met him, my Lord,” he said, his eyes turning challengingly to Erestor, who held the frosty gaze most unnervingly.

The silence grew until it became awkward and Taú thought perhaps that now would be a good time to take his leave. But protocol would not allow for that, for it would mean rising from the table before the host. He could not.

“You know, there are many Sindar left in Middle-earth, Erestor. Why on Earth would you presume to know Captain Taú’s father?” asked Elrond.

Elrohir and Elladan’s brows were furrowed in confusion and Arwen seemed simply oblivious, but Glorfindel was watching his Lord and the Chief Advisor closely.

“Now perhaps that was a rhetorical question,” began Elrond as he rose from his seat and moved to his desk. Picking up a thick, dusty tome, he flicked through the pages and then returned to his seat, but he did not sit. Instead, he dropped the book with a resounding thud, dust puffing to the sides and then settling.

It was then that Legolas saw it, a portrait of Oropher, first king of the Greenwood.

“The resemblance is astounding – wouldn’t you say? He said from his position above Legolas, his grey eyes glittering in challenge and repressed anger.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is the final chapter. I wanted to thank all my readers, and especially those that commented, left kudos etc. Hopefully, the second installment will not be too long in coming.
> 
> I am so glad you enjoyed the tale.

Chapter twelve

The shimmering grey eyes stared down menacingly at the one called Taú. There was no mistaking it – he was a scion of the house of Oropher, there could be no doubt about it. The strong nose, the unique shape of his lips, the slanted eyes and brows that spoke of stubbornness and power. Strange that only now, had he noticed these things.

Who exactly this was, Elrond did not know. What he did know was that this elf belonged to the Royal house of the Greenwood, and that he had withheld that information for reasons Elrond took offence to, and that was all too apparent now, in his thunderous eyes.

The table had fallen into shocked silence, until first Glorfindel, and then Elrond’s children slowly leant forward to peer at the portrait sitting in the midst of their food, dust still settling around it.

One by one, their mouths had opened and their eyes had bulged, moving from the portrait to Taú and back again.

Someone cleared their throat – Erestor.

“Well then,” he began softly, albeit his words seemed to echo around them far too loudly.

“Here is a mystery,” he said, as if he were beginning a tale, “tell us, Taú, why King Thranduil would fail to reveal the identity of one of his own house? Is it, perhaps, that he is – ashamed?”

In one swift move, Taú stood, his tunic swirling around him. He was tall, and well-built, and he did not make the slightest effort to hide his strength – indeed Erestor flinched only slightly, enough for Elrond to see and understand. His Chief Advisor had spoken out of turn, and to one of a line that had been well-known for their impetuousness. He wondered if he should break the death glare he had been giving the elf and intervene. Erestor was, after all, his friend.

“Ashamed? I do not think so, Lord Erestor. Tell me, why you would assume such a thing?” said the captain quietly, dangerously, like a mountain puma ready to pounce upon its frozen prey. Elrond prayed that Erestor would tread lightly now, and to his great relief, he did.

“I sought merely to obtain a reaction, for you are still unwilling it seems, to reveal your identity, even after your deception has been revealed. If it is an apology you require, you will have it after I have heard yours, my Lord?” he said calmly, admirably, thought Elrond, and his own body relaxed as the Silvan captain broke his murderous stare and looked to the floor in silent acquiescence.

“’Tis not deceit, my Lord Erestor. I merely follow orders,” said Taú softly.

“Whose orders are these, then?” said Elrond as he slowly moved forward until he stood but inches from the strange, pale wheat hair that was too thick, too long to be purely Silvan. He could see it now – the Sindarin in him.

“Those of my King, Thranduil Oropherion.”

“Why would he order such a thing?” asked Glorfindel, leaning forward with a quick glance at his lord.

“To protect me. You must try to understand, my Lord,” said Taú earnestly. “He has become – insular – distrustful of those outside his besieged realm – in all conscience I cannot fault my King for that.”

“I find it – offensive, that your king would think us capable of harming you. We are not kinslayers…” said Elrond meaningfully, and Taú stared back at him calmly. He saw it then, this very point was still questioned by Thranduil it seemed. It was preposterous and yet, he had not had dealings with Thranduil for over a millennia – and suddenly, he doubted his own, righteous anger.

“Is that it then, he believes we would harm one of his family, should we discover your lineage?”

“Partly, my lord. There is also the question of my – reputation,” he said shyly. “I – eh, have been given many names over the centuries. These names have transcended the ranks of our warriors and some have been given to me by – by the enemy.”

Glorfindel scowled as he too, stood. “What names?” he asked carefully.

Taú hesitated before revealing some of the names he had been given – slowly and with some disgust, he began to enumerate them; “The Reaper, Head Cleaver, Elven Avenger, Tr….”

“Troll-slayer – Silver Spawn. You are Legolas – Thranduilion,” finished Glorfindel in utter surprise, for even as he had said the words his disbelief was still apparent, and Elrond’s head snapped back to Taú.”

Silence availed however. Elrohir slowly stood, followed by Elladan, both brothers looking at the Silvan captain in complete puzzlement. Elrond knew what they were thinking, for the simple act of revealing his names and lineage, had almost physically transformed the elf before them. This was no ignorant tree-dweller, but the powerful warrior son of Thranduil.

“Is this true? Are you Legolas?” asked Elrond finally.

“I am Legolas Tauron, only remaining son of Thranduil Oropherion. Aye, ‘tis true.”

Another prolonged silence ensued, until Elrond calmed his thundering heart and collected himself enough to speak once more.

“I request your presence in my study in thirty minutes,” he said simply, glancing meaningfully first at Glorfindel, and then at Erestor, before turning on his heels, and leaving.

The crackling tension eased as both lords nodded once at Taú, and followed their leader, leaving the siblings alone with a still standing Taú.

“I am sorry. It was never my intention to deceive you.”

Elrohir walked towards the rigid Silvan, and then placed a warm hand upon his muscled shoulder.

“Only remaining son?” he asked.

“The only one,” replied Taú quietly. “I lost my two elder brothers to the enemy. Since then, I swore I would avenge their deaths, make it my sole purpose in this life to put an end to that which took my happiness from me – from my father… So you see,” he said with a sad smile, “I understand you so well, my friend.”

Elrohir held this sparkling gaze for a moment, before closing his own eyes and moving forward to embrace him. Legolas stood rigid for a moment, before he relaxed and wrapped his own arm around Elrond’s son, a sad smile gracing his extraordinary features.

“Well, well, my Prince,” said Elladan playfully as he too, drew closer, followed by Arwen. “The resemblance is nothing short of – amazing,” he said with a tilt of his brows as he looked down at the still open book.

“I know,” smiled Legolas. My father calls me Oropherion sometimes, when he is angered – some of the more mystical members of our society even claim I am Oropher himself reincarnated!”

“Well, whoever you are,” contributed Arwen, “you are a friend to us now, whatever our father has in store for you,” she finished sourly.

“Will he banish me, do you think?” asked Legolas innocently. “My father will not be happy about this at all – he will not let me past the borders in a century.”

“That I cannot say,” said Elrohir. “You saved our sister’s hide, and I know that he was pleasantly surprised by whatever was in that missive. Perhaps he will not be quick to sever these tenuous ties that may be had from it; and you have an ally in Glorfindel, I would wager.”

“Do you think so?” asked the Prince hopefully.

“I do. He likes you, I think.”

Legolas smiled widely. “I am glad of that, to have the approval of one so great.”

“You are a warrior, Legolas, down to the very marrow of your bones. In everything you do, in all the words you say, in all that you are. You and he are alike in so many ways.”

Legolas dipped his head solemnly at Elrohir, before wandering over to the fire and staring into the bright orange flames.

“I wish I knew what words my father has written… to be kept in the dark is a frustrating thing. Your father and Lord Erestor have the upper hand in this. Perhaps they will reveal them to me now. And if they do not and I am banished, I will take with me the promise of your friendship,” he smiled as he turned to them with resolve. “A friendship I wager will be famous!”

Elrohir smiled cheekily and Arwen’s eyes glittered, and Elladan’s smile was one of relief, for Legolas may have lost his two brothers, but he had returned his own twin to him, and in doing so, had earned himself two brothers that would stand by him – to whatever end.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Elrond. Try to see it from his perspective. He may not agree with this father’ tactics, however much he is honor-bound to respect and uphold them. I saw shame in his eyes, I am not mistaken,” said Glorfindel passionately.

“Courage often lies in stepping forward and claiming the truth rather than that which is expected of you,” drawled Erestor.

“Aye, but courage too is found in loyalty, even unto your own inner conflicts, if it is for the good of the land. Courage is not about stating your personal ethics but doing what benefits your people, Erestor.”

The advisor remained silent and Glorfindel knew that Erestor had accepted his reasoning, but had Elrond?

“It is offensive, Glorfindel, that Thranduil would take his skepticism to such limits…”

“Offensive, perhaps, but we cannot, should not blame him because the seed to mistrust endures. It is also for us to show him we have changed, that our intentions are noble.”

“Yes, I will admit that the time our people have been estranged has been too long and in that I am glad of this missive.”

“Then do not end it even before it has been allowed to begin. Do not banish him or punish him so that his father will hear of it. If Thranduil does indeed do this to protect his son, this means he holds him dear. Publicly berating him will earn us his wrath.”

Elrond simply nodded. “Let’s get this over with then…”

All three lords moved to the long conference table and settled their robes about them. Glorfindel had managed to calm Elrond’s anger and possibly avoid the prince’s banishment, but that did not mean the pup would be getting off lightly. They were Noldor, and the Noldor would have retribution, one way of the other.

“Come,” said Elrond curtly as Legolas stood in the doorway.

Legolas walked until he was before the long table. No invitation to sit was forthcoming and so he stood as if to attention, his hands neatly folded before him, head slightly bent in submission.

“It is custom amongst the Noldor to welcome guests as is befitting their station. However, if said station is not revealed, we are thus denied our customs and traditions. I am most disappointed in your king’s actions.”

Legolas said nothing for a while, until he realized Elrond was not going to continue until he did.

“I was following orders, my Lord,” he said quietly.

“And do you agree with those orders?” asked Elrond.

Silence. 

“No. I do not. I understand them, I rejoice for the feelings behind them, but I do not believe it was wise.”

Silence.

“What feelings are those?” asked the lord, his head cocked slightly to one side.

“Love for his youngest son, fear of losing the only one that is left to him. Anger and frustration because his queen was lost in defending me – to lose me would be to make her sacrifice – sterile.”

Elrond’s eyes had grown round and wide, and trembled only slightly. As Glorfindel watched him, his own eyes became warm and moist, because the young prince had touched upon his lord’s own agony.

“You are the general of his armies, I saw your band… If he is so protective, then why has he not wrapped you in fleeces and kept you in his fortress of stone?”

“Because he cannot,” said Legolas, his face now showing all the emotions of his words. “He has no choice and should you ever grace our lands with your presence, my Lord, you will see why. I am his loyal subject but it is not only my face that I share with my grand-father. We are kindred spirits he and I. He was stubborn and so am I. He was fierce and so am I – He was wild, and so am I,” he finished in a whisper, his bright green eyes locking onto Elrond.

Elrond rose and walked around the table until he faced Legolas.

“Those are the traits of a leader, as Lord Erestor has just pointed out to me. I cannot say I approve, Prince Legolas, but you have at least, made me understand his motives – a father’s motives. I cannot gainsay that. Welcome then, to Imladris, young prince. Tomorrow, we will feast in honor of your presence, and then discuss the contents of your father’s missive.”

The atmosphere relaxed enough for Legolas to let out a relieved breath and Glorfindel allowed a fleeting smile to grace his lips. ‘He is too young…’ he thought to himself, not for the first time.

“My Lord, should my father hear that I have revealed myself, he will not be pleased…”

“Then take that as your punishment. You will confront him and explain it as best you can. Once he sees our answer to his letter, I am sure you will not find yourself in his renowned dungeons for too long,” smirked Elrond, and Glorfindel and Erestor shared a silent, painful ‘ohh’.

Against the odds, a grin spread over Legolas’ face and his eyes twinkled in what Glorfindel could only describe as merriment.

“You place before me a challenge my Lord, one I hope to rise up to,” he said.

But Elrond did not smile back, and as his eyes looked to the side, he uttered his next words quietly and solemnly, and Glorfindel’s skin crawled with something ancient, of the deep Earth…

“And it will not be the last one I place before you…”

THE END

Coming soon…

They are Noldo and they are learned, gifted in the skills of the physical sciences and the arts. Refined and graceful like no other. The Wise Ones, led by Elrond and Glorfindel, travel to the Greenwood to reciprocate Thranduil’s invitation. What will they see? How will it change their perception of the life those unruly tree-dwellers live? The Greenwood prepares for imperious Noldos…


End file.
